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LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


Division. 


Section. 


31 


>B- 


HYMNS    OF    THE 
CHRISTIAN    CENTURIES 


^ 


^- 


■>h 


*- 


->^ 


•J( ^ 

HYMNS 


OF    THE 


CHRISTIAN  CENTURIES 


COMPILED    BY 

MRS.   PEKCIAAI.  MACKUELL 


NEW  YORK 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

LONDON  :   (JEOIUJE    ALLEN 

1903 


^ ^ 


»J(- ■ ^ 


Printed  by  Ballantynk,  Hanson  &-  Co. 
At  the  Ballantyne  Press 


*- 


t^ >ii 


PREFACE 


''  A  HYMN/'  says  S.  Augustine,  '^'^  consists  of  praise 
-^^     to  God  and  that  with  song." 

The  dawn  of  the  Christian  Era  was  ushered  in 
with  the  AngeHc  Hymn  at  Bethlehem  ;  the  Gloria 
in  Excelsis,  still  sung  in  all  branches  of  the  Church, 
and  from  the  fifth  century  (perhaps  the  fourth) 
forming  part  of  our  Eucharistic  Service.  After  the 
Angels'  Hymn  follow  in  a  glorious  succession  the 
Magnificat,  the  Benedictus,  the  Nunc  Dimittis,  the 
Acclaim  of  the  children  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem. 

These,  in  their  majesty  and  beauty  eclipsing  all 
others  of  all  times,  are  the  only  known  hymns  of 
the  first  century. 

Two  of  the  Evangelists  point  to  the  Highest  of  all 
as  our  Authority  for  the  use  and  love  of  hymns  in 
recording  the  singing  of  a  hymn  by  our  Lord  and 
His  Apostles  after  the  institution  of  the  Lord's 
Supper. 

Glorious  indeed  must  have  been  that  strain  as  the 
voices  of  our  Blessed  Lord  and  the  Eleven  rose  on 
j      the  night  air  from  that  upper  room  in  Jerusalem. 

* z * 

Vll 


^ ^ 

PREFACE 

The  hymn  thus  sung  was  ahiiost  certainly  "  hi 
exitu  Israel,"  part  of  the  Great  Hallel  (Psalms  cxiii. 
to  cxviii.)  always  sung  by  faithful  Hebrews  at  the 
Passover,  the  first  four  psalms  immediately  before  and 
the  last  two  after  partaking  of  the  Solemn  Feast. 

Trust,  thanksgiving,  and  praise  were  here  ex- 
pressed and  gave  the  keynote  for  all  after  hymnody. 

The  heathen  Pliny,  writing  a.d.  103  to  Trajan, 
reports  the  great  growth  of  Christianity  in  his  pro- 
vince of  Pontus,  and  that  the  accused  Christians  on 
their  trial  before  him,  had  affirmed  that  their  custom 
was  to  meet  on  a  stated  day  before  daylight  and 
sing  a  hymn  to  Christ  as,  says  Pliny,  to  a  god. 
Tertullian  and  Eusebius  confirm  Pliny's  testimony. 
Philo  also  describes  how  in  the  first  century  "the 
Christians  composed  hymns  which  they  sung  to  the 
honour  of  the  true  God."  The  Church  historian 
Socrates  (a.d.  385)  relates  that  S.  Ignatius  (a.d.  68- 
1 07)  had  "  learned  through  an  angelic  vision  to 
hymn  the  Holy  Trinity." 

They  passed  away  a  noble  army  of  Martyrs,  and 
seem  not  to  have  committed  to  writing  the  early 
hymns  of  the  Church  ;  it  may  have  been  from  fear 
that  the  sacred  words  might  fall  into  the  hands  of 
their  enemies  and  be  profaned  by  heathen  blas- 
phemy. Thus  fragments  only  of  the  early  Greek 
and  Syriac  hymns — there  is  no  known  Latin  hymn 
earlier  than  a.d.  357 — have  come  down  to  us. 

i ^iii * 


PREFACE 

S.  Chrysostom  and  S.  Jerome  record  that  until 
the  fourth  century  the  hymns  were  sung  in  the 
Greek  and  Syriac  tongues. 

The  earUest  Latin  hymn  known  is  one  of  two  sent 
by  Hilary,  Bishop  of  Poictiers,  when  in  exile,  to  his 
daughter  Abra,  which  in  his  accompanying  letter  he 
tells  her  are  ^'  one  for  the  morning  and  one  for  the 
evening  to  be  used  in  the  worship  of  God."  The 
evening  hymn  has  been  lost ;  the  morning  hymn 
was  the  " Lucis  largitor  Splcndide" — "Thou  Splendid 
Giver  of  the  Light." 

After  S.  Hilary  came  S.  Ambrose,  consecrated 
Bishop  of  Milan  a.d.  374,  who  wrote  many  hymns  him- 
self and  collected  many  others  which  were  already  in 
use ;  it  was  from  his  time  that  the  use  of  hymns 
became  general  in  the  Offices  of  the  Church. 

Full  of  interest  and  beauty  are  the  early  Christian 
hymns,  and  if  later  some  were  produced  and  used 
in  the  Services  of  the  Church  which  seem  to  us 
unsuited  for  any  Christian  century,  some  inspired 
writer  has  always  emerged  to  redeem  the  degraded 
hymnody  of  his  day.  With  the  great  change  which 
came  over  the  religious  thought  of  Christendtmi  in 
the  sixteenth  century  the  hymn  horizon  widens,  and 
thenceforth  to  the  })resent  time  the  outpourings  of 
fervent  souls,  and  the  happy  inspirations  of  gifted 
poets  have  provided  the  hynui  lover  with  a  wealth 
of  hymns  from  which  he  may  readily  find  numbers 

^ : ►i^ 

IX 


PREFACE 


still  full  of  interest  and  beauty,  although  many  may 
not  be  hymns  within  the  definition  of  S.  Augustine. 
Many  popular  hymns  and  carols  are  very  painful  to 
some  among  us,  from  the  irreverence  with  which  the 
Divine  Name  is  introduced  ;  the  Name  of  God,  before 
whom  we  are  told  the  very  Angels  veil  their  faces. 
Old  Thomas  Fuller  aptly  says  that  ^*  The  too  ftimiliar 
words  of  some  hymns  do  knock  at  the  door  of  blas- 
phemy, though  not  always  with  intent  to  enter 
thereat." 

The  Compiler  has  selected  one  or  more  hymns  to 
illustrate  those  of  each  century,  and  many  of  the 
less  well-known  hymns  of  later  times ;  amongst 
the  wealth  of  modern  hymnody  many  of  the  old 
favourites  are  passing  out  of  use. 

This  collection  of  hymns  is  not  intended  for  use 
in  public  service,  and  therefore  does  not  include 
well-known  hymns  to  be  found  in  all  hymn-books. 
The  Compiler's  intention  has  rather  been  to  find  a 
place  for  hymns  which  are  excluded  from  most  col- 
lections, partly  because  they  are  not  well  adapted 
for  congregational  singing,  and  in  some  cases  because 
they  are  not  easily  accessible  to  the  collector.  The 
footnotes  to  the  hymns  are  the  result  of  years  of 
research  and  study,  and  will,  it  is  hoped,  be  wel- 
comed by  the  hymn  lover,  who  is  again  reminded  of 
S.  Augustine  in  his  words  :  "  The  hymns  and  songs 
of  the  Church  moved  my  soul  intensely.      'I'hy  truth 


PREFACE 

was  distilled  by  them  into  my  heart  until  the  flame 
of  religion  was  kindled  thereby." 

The  Compiler  gratefully  acknowledges  the  kind- 
ness of  those  authors  who  have  allowed  her  to  use 
their  hymns^  and  of  those  publishers  who  have 
allowed  her  to  use  hymns  of  which  they  possess 
the  copyright.  In  case  she  has  inadvertently  in- 
cluded a  hymn  for  which  permission  should  have 
been  obtained,  she  offers  to  the  author  or  publisher  a 
sincere  apology. 

Amongst  those  whose  courtesy  in  giving  permis- 
sion for  the  use  of  hymns  the  Compiler  would  sjiecially 
acknowledge,  are  : — 

His  Grace  the  Archbishop  of  York. 

The  Lord  Primate  of  Ireland. 

The  Right  Rev.  the  Bishop  of  Durham. 

The  Right  Rev.  the    Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and   the 

Rev.   C.   Wordsworth,  for  a  hymn  by  the   late 

Bishop  C.  Wordsworth. 
The  Right.  Rev.  Bishop  E.  H.  Bickersteth,  D.D. 
Bishop  Welldon,  D.D. 
Arthur  C.  Benson,  Esq.,  M.A.,  for  hymn  by  the  late 

Archbishop  Benson. 
Canon  I.  Gregory  Smith. 
Canon  Lester. 
Rev.  Sabine  Baring-Gould. 
Rev.  Somerset  C.  Lowry. 

^ >h 


PREFACE 


The    Earl    Nelson,    for    hymns    from     the    Sarum 

Hjnmnal. 
Rev.  H.  Walsham-How,  for  hymn  by  the  late  Bishop 

Walsham-How. 
The  Executors  of  the  late  Right  Hon.  W.  E.  Glad- 
stone, for  his  hymn  on  p.  187. 
Rev.  F.  G.  Ellerton,  for  hymn  by  the  late  Rev.  John 

Ellerton. 
Rev.    H.    E.    Alderson,  for  hymn   by  the    late    Mrs. 

Alderson. 
Mrs.  Birks,  for  two  hymns  by  the  late  Professor  Birks. 
Mrs.  H.  M.  Chester. 
Mrs.  Ross  Cousin. 
Mrs.   Hodges,  for  a  hymn  by  the   late    Rev.    G.  S. 

Hodges. 
Mrs.  L.  Massey. 
Mrs.   Munroe,  for  hymn  by  the  late   Miss  E.  E.  S. 

Elliott. 
Messrs.   Funk  &   WagnalLs,   for   hynnis   by  the    late 

Rev.  S.  Willoughby  Duffield. 
Mr.  John  Grant,  for  hymns  by  the  late   Rev.  J.  M. 

Neale,  D.D. 
Messrs.    Hodder   &    Stoughton,    for    use    of    their 

copyright. 
Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin,  <Jv  Co.,  of  New  York,  for 

hymns  by  the  late  J.  G.  Whittier. 
Messrs.    Houlston    &    Sons,    for    hymns    by    Canon 

R.  H.  Baynes,  taken  from  Ijjra  AngHca/ia. 

^ * 

xn 


-^ 


PREFACE 


Messrs.   Longmans,  for  hynins  by  the  late   Miss  C. 

Winkworth. 
Messrs.    Macmillan,    for   hymns    by   the   late    Canon 

Kingsley,  and   the  late    Earl   of  Selborne,  and 

the  late  Mrs.  C.  F.  Alexander. 
Messrs.  Nisbet,  for  a  hymn  by  tli^  late  Canon  Dent 

Bell. 

And  as  regards  special  information,  the  Compiler 
most  gratefnlly  acknowledges  her  indebtedness  to 
the  great  writer  on  hymnology.  Canon  Julian,  D.D., 
whose  book  for  years  past  has  been  a  source  of  never- 
failing  pleasure  and  interest. 

E.  P.  M. 


>^- 


*- 


■* 


C  O  N  T  E  N  1  S 


Hymns  of  the  Second  Century 

;,,  ,,  Third  Century 

,,  ,,  Fourth  Century 

,,  ,,  Fifth  Century 

,,  ,,  Sixth  (Jentury 

,,  ,,  Seventh  Century 

,,  ,,  Eighth  C^entury 

„  ,,  Ninth  Century 

,,  ,,  Tenth  Century 

,,  ,,  F^LEVENTH  Century 

,,  ,,  Twelfth  Century 

,,  ,,  Thirteenth  Century 

,,  ,,  Fourteenth  Century 

},  ,,  Fifteenth  Century 

J  J  ,,  Sixteenth  Century 

,,  ,,  Seventeenth  Century 

,,  ,,  Eighteenth  C'entitry 

„  ,,  Nineteenth  (Century 

Appendix    ...... 

Index  ...... 


PAGE 

1 

7 
n 

21 
25 
29 
83 
87 
48 
47 
51 
57 

(;9 

78 

79 

98 
187 
171 

2(57 
278 


■^ 


^ ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    SECOND    CENTURY 


>^ 1^ 


>ii )^ 


THE   HYMN  OF  THE  SAVIOUR 

/^~\  THOU,  the  King  of  Saints,  all-conquering  Word, 
-^      Son  of  the  Highest,  wisdom's  Fount  and  Lord, 
The  prop  that  doth  uphold  through  toil  and  pain, 
The  joy  of  ages  through  immortal  reign  ; 
Yet  born  of  mortal  flesh  for  life's  brief  span, 
O  Saviour  Jesus,  Shepherd,  Husbandman ; 
Helm  Thou  to  guide,  and  bridle  to  restrain. 
Wing  of  the  holy  flock  that  Heaven  would  gain ; 
O  holiest  Shepherd  of  enlightened  sheep, 
Lead  Thou  Thy  flock  the  upward  heavenly  steep, 
Pure  Life  of  all  the  happy  ransomed  throng 
Who  hymn  their  God  through  all  the  ages  long : — 
In  grateful  homage  unto  Christ  the  King, 
Who  taught  us  life,  let  us  together  sing. 

Clement  of  Alexandria. 

(Date  of  birth  and  death  unknown. 

About  A.D.  170  to  190.) 

Tr.  by  Rev.  Allan  Chatfield. 

The  earliest  known  Christian  hymn. 


->^ 


* ^ ^ 


HYMN    TO    CHRIST 

KING  of  Saints,  Almighty  Word 
Of  the  Father,  Mightiest  Lord, 
Wisdom's  Head  and  Chief, 
Assuagement  of  all  grief, 
Lord  of  all  time  and  space, 
Jesus,  Saviour  of  our  race. 

Let  us  with  hearts  undefiled. 

Celebrate  the  Mighty  Child  ; 

We  Christ-born,  the  choir  of  peace, 

We  the  people  of  His  love  ; 

Let  us  sing,  nor  ever  cease 

To  the  God  of  peace  above. 

Clement  of  Alexandria. 


•^ ■ * 


FRAGMENT  OF  AN  EARLY  CHRISTIAN 
GREEK  HYMN 

Tj^ROM  our  midnight  sleep  uprising, 

Thee,  Gracious  One,  we  will  adore  ; 
Loud  the  angels'  hymn  uplifting 
To  Thee,  Almighty,  evermore  ! 
The  holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  and  God  art  Thou  ! 
In  mercy's  name,  have  mercy  on  us  now ! 

From  the  couch  and  death-like  slumber 

Thou  makest  me,  O  Lord,  to  rise  : 
Thou  my  mind  and  heart  enlighten. 
And  free  my  lips  from  sinful  ties, 
So  may  I  before  Thee,  Lord,  with  praises  bow ; 
For  holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  and  God  art  Thou ! 

With  multitudes  on  multitudes. 

The  coming  Judge  will  soon  be  here  ; 
And  every  deed  of  every  man. 
Will  bare  and  open  then  appear. 
We  wait  in  filial  fear  cheering  our  midnight  now. 
With  holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  and  God  art  Thou. 

Is  of  unknown  authorship. 


■>^ 


^ — ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    THIRD    CENTURY 


*ii— ^ 


^ >3& 


THE    CANDLELIGHT   HYMN 

Sung  at  Vespers 

r\  BRIGHTNESS    of  the  Immortal  Father's  Face, 
^^       Most  Holy,  Heavenly,  Blest 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  in  Whom  His  truth  and  grace 
Are  visibly  expressed. 

The  sun  is  sinking  now,  and  one  by  one 

The  lights  of  evening  shine  : 
We  hymn  the  Eternal  Father,  and  the  Son, 

And  Holy  Ghost  Divine. 

Worthy  art  Thou  at  all  times  to  receive 

Our  hallowed  praises.  Lord  : 
O  Son  of  God,  be  Thou,  in  Whom  we  live. 

Through  all  the  world  adored. 


This  Greek  hymn  of  unknown  authorship  was  sung  in  the 
ancient  Church  at  the  lighting  of  the  lamps.  It  was  quoted 
by  St.  Basil  in  the  fourth  century ;  and  to  this  day  holds  its 
place  in  the  Services  of  the  Greek  Church. 


^ ^ 


*- 


ANCIENT    HYMN 

From  the  Praise  Service  of  the 
Early  Church 


o 


SOUL  of  mine,  O  soul  of  mine. 
Arise,  why  sleepest  thou  ? 
The  end  of  earth  is  drawing  near. 

And  art  thou  fearful  now  ? 
Be  sober  therefore,  O  my  soul, 

That  He  who  filleth  space 
And  filleth  time,  our  Saviour,  God, 
May  spare  thee  by  His  grace. 

Greek  hymn.     Author  and  date  unknown. 


10 


.•J( >^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    FOURTH    CENTURY 


11 


^_ ^ 


HYMN   TO   THE   TRINITY 

f\  SPLENDOUR  of  the  Father's  Face, 

'     Affording  Hght  from  hght ; 
Thou  Light  of  Light,  Thou  Fount  of  Grace, 

Thou  Day  of  Days  most  bright. 

O  shine  upon  us,  perfect  Sun, 

With  lasting  Brightness  shine  ; 
Let  radiance  from  the  Spirit  run 
Our  senses  to  refine. 

St.  Ambrose, 
(a.d.  340  to  397.) 


One  of  the  twelve  hymns  by  St.  Ambrose  always  received 
as  genuine,  and  ascribed  to  him  by  Bishop  Fulgentius,  who 
died  A.D.  533. 


^ 

13 


^ ^ 


li/TAKER   of  all  things,  glorious  God, 
-^^     And  Ruler  of  the  height. 
Who,  robing  day  in  light,  hast  poured 

Soft  slumbers  o'er  the  night. 
That  to  our  limbs  the  power 

Of  toil  may  be  renewed. 
And  hearts  be  raised  that  sink  and  cower. 

And  sorrow  be  subdued. 

We  thank  Thee  for  the  day  that's  gone  ; 

We  pray  Thee  now  the  night  comes  on  ; 
O  help  us  sinners  as  we  raise 

To  Thee  our  votive  hymn  of  praise. 
Christ  with  the  Father  ever  One, 

Spirit  of  Father  and  of  Son, 
God  over  all,  of  mighty  sway. 

Shield  us,  great  Trinity,  we  pray. 

St.  Ambrose, 


This  authorship,  owing  to  St.  Augustine's  words,  where  he 
speaks  of  "  those  true  verses  of  Thy  Ambrose,"  has  never 
been  disputed. 


14 


^ ^ 


FUNERAL   HYMN 

73  ECEIVK     him.    Earth,    unto    thme    harbouring 
'  shrine ; 

In  thy  soft  tranquil  bosom  let  him  rest ; 
These  limbs  of  man  I  to  thy  care  consign, 

And  trust  the  noble  fragments  to  thy  breast. 

This  house  was  once  the  mansion  of  a  soul 
Brought  into  Hfe  by  its  Creator's  breath  ; 

Wisdom  did  once  this  living  mass  control  ; 

And   Christ  was  there  enshrined,  Who   conquers 
death. 

-Cover  this  body  to  thy  care  consigned. 

Its  Maker  shall  not  leave  it  in  the  grave  ; 

But  His  own  lineaments  shall  bear  in  mind, 
And  shall  recall  the  image  which  He  gave. 

Variatio7i  from  Aurelius  Prudentius. 
Tr.  hy  Rev.  Isaac  Williams,  B.D.     (1838.) 


15 


^ ^ qi 


HYMNUS    MATUTIiNUS 


T  UCIS  Largitor  splendide, 
-"^  Cujus  sereno  lumine 
Post  lapsa  noctis  tempora 
Dies  refusus  panditur ; 


Tu  verus  mundi  Lucifer, 
Non  is,  qui  parvi  sideris 
Venturae  lucis  iiuntius 
Augusto  fulget  lumine, 

Sed  toto  sole  clarior. 
Lux  ipse  totus  et  dies. 
Interna  nostri  pectoris 
Illuminans  praecordia : 

Adesto,  rerum  Conditor, 
Paternae  lucis  gloria, 
Cujus  admota  gratia 
Nostra  patescunt  corpora ; 


* re * 


>^ >^ 


A   MORNING    HYMN 

nnHOU  splendid  Giver  of  the  lights 
By  Whose  serene  and  lovely  ray 
Beyond  the  gloomy  shades  of  night 
Is  opened  wide  another  day  ! 

Thou  true  Light-bearer  of  the  earthy 
Far  more  than  he  whose  slender  star, 

Son  of  the  morning,  in  its  dearth 
Of  radiance  sheds  its  beams  afar ! 

But  clearer  than  the  sun  may  shine, 
Ail  light  and  day  in  Thee  I  find. 

To  fill  my  night  with  glory  fine. 
And  purify  my  inner  mind. 

Come  near.  Thou  Maker  of  the  world. 
Illustrious  in  Thy  Father's  light. 

From  Whose  free  grace  if  we  were  hurled. 
Body  and  soul  were  ruined  ({uite. 


17  B 


^ ^ 


Hymnus  Matutinus — (cofitiiiued) 

Tuoque  plena  spiritu, 
Secum  Deum  gestantia, 
Ne  rapientis  perfidi 
Diris  patescant  fraudibus, 

Ut  inter  actus  seculi 
Vitae  quos  usus  exigit, 
Omni  carentes  crimine 
Tuis  vivamus  legibus. 

Haec  Spes  precantis  animae, 
Hsec  sunt  votiva  munera, 
Ut  matutina  nobis  sit 
Lux  in  noctis  custodiam. 


The  earliest  known  Latin  hymn.  One  of  the  two  for 
morning  and  evening  which  Bishop  Hilary  of  Poitiers  sent 
from  Seleucia,  where  he  was  in  exile,  to  his  daughter  Abra 
in  Gaul.     The  evening  hymn  is  lost  to  us. 


18     . 


^ ^ 


A  Morning  Hymn — {continued) 

Fill  with  Thy  Spirit  every  sense, 

That  God's  Divine  and  gracious  love 

May  drive  Satanic  temptings  hence, 

And  blight  their  falsehoods  from  above. 

That  in  the  acts  of  common  toil 

Which  life  demands  from  us  each  day. 

We  may  without  a  stain  or  soil. 
Live  in  Thy  holy  laws  alway. 

This  hope  is  in  my  praying  heart — 
These  are  my  vows  which  now  I  pay  ; 

That  this  sweet  light  may  not  depart. 
But  guide  me  purely  through  the  day. 

Bishop  Hilary  of  Poitiers, 

(a.d.  357.) 

Tr.  by  Rev.  S.  W.  Duffield. 


19 


»J< ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    FIFTH    CENTURY 


Y, * 


^ ^ 


THE    TRANSFIGURED    CHRIST 

/^  YE  who  seek  your  Lord  to-day, 
^  Lift  up  your  eyes  on  high, 

And  view  Him  there,  as  now  ye  may, 
Whose  Brightness  cannot  die. 

How  gloriously  it  shineth  on, 
As  though  it  knew  no  dearth. 

Sublime  and  lofty,  never  done. 
Older  than  heaven  and  earth. 

Thou  art  the  very  King  of  men. 

Thy  people  Israel's  King, 
Promised  unto  our  fathers  when 

From  Abraham  all  should  spring. 

To  Thee  the  Prophets  testified, 
In  Thee  their  hearts  rejoice — 

Our  Father  bids  us  seek  Thy  side 
To  hear  and  heed  Thy  voice. 

AuRELius  Prudentius. 
(Born  A.D.  348.      Died  a.d.  413.) 

Tr.  by  Rev.  S.  WiLLOUGHBY  Duffield. 


23 


^ —qi 


GREEK    HYMN 


T  ORD  JESU,  think  on  me, 
^-^^     And  purge  away  my  sin  ; 
From  earthborn  passions  set  me  free. 
And  make  me  pure  within. 

Lord  Jesu,  think  on  me, 

Nor  let  me  go  astray ; 
Through  darkness  and  perplexity 

Point  Thou  the  heavenly  way. 

Lord  Jesu,  think  on  me. 

That  when  the  flood  is  past, 

I  may  the  eternal  Brightness  see. 
And  share  Th)^  joy  at  last. 

Lord  Jesu,  think  on  me, 

That  I  may  sing  above 
Praise  to  the  Father,  and  to  Thee, 

And  to  the  Holy  Dove.     Amen. 

Synesius  of  Cyrene,  Bishop  of  Ptolemais. 
(a.d.   375  to  434.) 

Tr.  by  Rev.  ALLAN  Chatpield,  M.A. 


24 


^ ■ : ^ 


HYMN    OF 
THE    SIXTH    CENTURY 


25 


^ ^ 


rilHK  Royal  banners  forward  fly; 

The  Cross  upon  them  cheers  the  sky  ; 
That  Cross  whereon  our  Maker  hung, 
In  human  form,  by  anguish  wrung. 

For  He  was  wounded  bitterly 
By  that  dread  spear-thrust  on  the  Tree, 
And  there,  to  set  us  free  from  guilt. 
His  very  Life  in  Blood  He  spilt. 

O  Tree,  renowned  and  shining  high, 

Thy  crimson  is  a  royal  dye  ! 

Elect  from  such  a  worthy  root 

To  bear  those  Holy  Limbs,  thy  fruit. 

Blessed  upon  whose  branches  then 
Hung  the  great  Gift  of  God  to  men  ; 
Whose  price,  of  human  life  and  breath. 
Redeemed  us  from  the  thrall  of  death. 

Venantius  Fortunatus,  Bishop  of  Poitiers. 
(a.d.  569-     Born  about  a.d.  530.) 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  of  the  Christian  lyrists  ;  he  was 
the  connecting  link  between  Prudentius  and  the  Middle  Ages. 

Tr.  by  Rev.  S.  Willoughby  Duffield. 


27 


^ ^ 


HYMN    OF 
THE    SEVENTH    CENTURY 


29 


^ >ii 


4    HYMN  of  glory  let  us  sing; 
^^^^^    New  hymns  throughout  the  world  shall  ring  ; 
By  a  new  way  none  ever  trod, 
Christ  mounteth  to  the  Throne  of  God. 

The  Apostles  on  the  mountain  stand. 
The  mystic  Mount — in  Holy  Land, 
They  with  the  Virgin-Mother,  see 
Jesus  ascend  in  majesty. 

The  Angels  say  to  the  eleven. 
Why  stand  ye  gazing  into  heaven  ? 
This  is  the  Saviour,  upward  borne 
On  this  His  glorious  triumjjh-morn. 

They  said  the  Lord  should  come  again. 
As  these  beheld  Him  rising  then 
Calm  soaring  through  the  radiant  sky, 
Mountino'  its  dazzlino;  summits  hiah. 

Be  Thou  our  joy  on  earth,  O  Lord, 
Who  art  to  be  our  great  Reward  : 
And  as  the  countless  ages  flee. 
Let  all  our  glory  be  in  Thee  !     Amen. 

From  the  York  Hjmnal. 

Hymn  for  Ascension  Day 

jB^  the  Venerable  Bede. 
(a.d.  673  to  735.) 

Tr.  by  Mrs.  Rundle-Charles.     (1858.) 

Bede  was  "  The  Father  of  English  Learning  " — the  man 
who,  more  than  any  other,  is  representative  of  ancient 
England. 

^ ^ 

31 


■^ 


HYMN    OF 
THE    EIGHTH    CENTURY 


Vs : ^ 


LENT 

^TrHF.NCE  shall  my  tears  begin  ? 
'  '        What  first  fruits  shall  I  bear 
Of  earnest  sorrow  for  my  sin  ? 
Or  how  my  woes  declare  ? 
O  Thou,  the  merciful  and  gracious  One  ! 
Forgive  the  foul  transgressions  I  have  done. 

If  Adam's  righteous  doom, 

Because  he  dared  transgress 
Thy  one  decree,  lost  Eden's  bloom 
And  Eden's  loveliness, 
What  recompense,  O  Lord,  must  I  expect. 
Who  all  my  life  Thy  quickening  laws  neglect  ? 

Thou  spotless  Lamb  Divine, 

Who  takest  sins  away  ! 
Remove  far  off  the  load  that  mine 
Upon  my  conscience  lay : 
And  of  Thy  tender  mercy,  grant  Thou  me 
To  find  remission  of  iniquity  ! 

St.  Andrew  of  Crete. 
(End  of  eighth  century.) 

Tr.  by  Dr.  Neale.     (1862.) 

From  the  Greek  Church. 


35 


^ ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    NINTH    CENTURY 


^ 7, ^ 

37 


^ — 

HYMN   FOR   PALM    SUNDAY 

i  LL  glory,  laud,  and  honour 
-^^      To  Thee,  Redeemer,  King, 
To  whom  the  lips  of  children 

Made  sweet  Hosannas  ring  ! 
Thou  art  the  King  of  Israel, 

Thou  David's  Royal  Son, 
Who  in  the  Lord's  Name  comest, 

The  King  and  Blessed  One. 

The  company  of  angels 

Are  praising  Thee  on  high  ; 
And  mortal  men,  and  all  things 

Created,  make  reply. 
The  people  of  the  Hebrews 

With  palms  before  Thee  went : 
Our  praise  and  prayer  and  anthems 

Before  Thee  we  present. 

To  Thee  before  Thy  passion 

They  sang  their  hymns  of  praise  : 
To  Thee,  now  high  exalted, 

Our  melody  we  raise. 
Thou  didst  accept  their  praises ; 

Accept  the  })rayers  we  bring. 
Who  in  all  good  delightest. 

Thou  good  and  gracious  King. 

Tr.  by  Dr.  Neale.     (1859.) 

The  "Gloria,  Laus,  et  Honor"  of  Theodulph,  Bishop  of 
Orleans,  who  died  a.d.  821.  Composed  during  his  imprison- 
ment at  Angers,  This  hymn  has  ever  since  been  constantly 
sung  on  Palm  Sunday. 

^ ^ 

S9 


>ii- 


So  He  bringetli  them  unto  their  desired  haven. 


s 


AFE  home,  safe  home  in  port 


^^      Rent  cordage,  shattered  deck, 

Torn  sails,  provisions  short. 

And  only  not  a  wreck  ; 

But  oh  !  the  joy  upon  the  shore 

To  tell  the  voyage — perils  o'er  ! 

The  prize,  the  prize  secure ! 
The  wrestler  nearly  fell ; 
Bare  all  he  could  endure, 
And  bare  not  always  well : 
But  he  may  smile  at  troubles  gone. 
Who  sets  the  victor-garland  on. 

No  more  the  foe  can  harm. 

No  more  of  leaguered  camp, 
And  cry  of  night  alarm, 
And  need  of  ready  lamp  ; 
And  yet  how  nearly  had  he  failed — 
How  nearly  had  that  foe  prevailed  ! 


40 


^ >^ 


The  lamb  is  in  the  fold. 

In  perfect  safety  penned  ; 
The  lion  once  had  hold, 

And  thought  to  make  an  end ; 
But  One  came  by  with  wounded  Side, 
And  for  the  sheep  the  Shepherd  died. 

The  exile  is  at  home  ! 

O  nights  and  days  of  tears  ! 
O  longings  not  to  roam, 

O  sins  and  doubts  and  fears  : 
What  matters  now  grief's  darkest  day  ? 
When  God  has  wiped  those  tears  away 

Tr.  by  Dr.  Neale.     (1862.) 


From  an  old  Greek  hymn  of  the  ninth  century. 


41 


^ 


■^ 


HYMN    OF 
THE    TENTH    CENTURY 


43 


^ >^ 


r\   UNITY  of  Threefold  Light, 
Send  out  Thy  lovehest  ray. 
And  scatter  our  transgressions'  night, 
And  turn  it  into  day. 

Make  us  those  temples  pure  and  fair 

Thy  glory  loveth  well. 
The  spotless  tabernacles  where 

Thou  may'st  vouchsafe  to  dwell. 

And  yet  Thyself  we  cannot  know. 

Nor  pierce  the  veil  of  light 
That  hides  Thee  from  the  Thrones  below 

As  in  profoundest  night. 

How  then  can  mortal  accents  frame 

Due  tribute  to  the  King  ? 
Thou  only  while  we  praise  Thy  Name 

Forgive  us  as  we  sing. 

Metrophanes,  Bishop  of  Smyrna. 

(Died  A.D.  910.) 
Tr.  by  Dr.  Neale.     (1862.) 

Greek  hymn  of  the  tenth  century. 


45 


^ ^ 


HYMN    OF 
THE    ELEVENTH    CENTURY 


►J^- 

47 


EASTER 

^TE  choirs  of  New  Jerusalem 
-*-        Your  wondrous  notes  employ, 
The  Paschal  victory  to  hymn 
In  strains  of  holy  joy  : 

How  Judah's  Lion  burst  His  chains 
And  bruised  the  serpent's  head ; 

And  cried  aloud  through  death's  domains, 
To  wake  the  imprisoned  dead. 

Right  gloriously  He  triumphs  now. 

To  Him  all  power  is  given  ; 
To  Him  in  one  communion  bow 

All  saints  in  earth  and  heaven. 

And  we,  as  these  His  deeds  we  sing. 

His  soldiers.  Him  implore. 
Within  His  palace  bright  to  bring 

And  keep  us  evermore. 

FULBERT    OF    ChARTRES. 

(Chancellor  of  the  Cathedral.     Died  a.d.  1028.) 
Tr.  hy  R.  Campbell.     (1850.) 

From  the  Sarum  Breviary. 


49 


-^ 


^ ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    TWELFTH    CENTURY 


^ ^ 

51 


THE    CROWN   OF   THORNS 

Passion  Chorale 

O  SACRED  HEAD  !  once  wounded 
With  grief  and  pain  weighed  down, 
O  Sacred  Brow  surrounded 

With  thorns  Thine  only  crown  ! 
Thy  grief  and  Thy  compassion 

Were  all  for  sinners'  gain  ;       * 
Mine,  mine  was  the  transgression. 
But  thine  the  deadly  pain. 

On  me  as  I  am  dying 

Oh,  turn  Thy  pitying  eye  ! 
To  Thee  for  mercy  crying. 

Before  Thy  cross  I  lie. 
Lo  !  here  I  fall,  my  Saviour  ! 

For  I  deserve  Thy  place, 
Look  on  me  with  Thy  favour 

Vouchsafe  to  me  Thy  grace  ' 

Be  near  me.  Lord,  when  dying ; 

Oh  show  Thy  Cross  to  me  ; 
And  for  my  succour  flying. 

Come,  Lord,  to  set  me  free  : 
These  eyes,  new  faith  receiving, 

From  Jesus  shall  not  move  ; 
For  he  who  dies  believing, 

Dies  safely  through  Thy  Love. 

Tr.  from  the  Latin  into  German  by  PAUL  Gerhardt.    (1656.) 
Tr.  from  the  German  into  English  by  Dr.  J.  W.  Alexander 
of  America.     (1830.) 

From  the  days  of  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  in  the  twelfth 
century,  to  whom  it  has  been  attributed,  this  classical  hymn 
has  shown  an  imperishable  vitality.  It  has  been  alike  sung 
in  Catholic,  Lutheran,  and  Reformed  Churches. 

>& *^ 

53 


TESU  !  the  very  thought  of  Thee 
^       With  sweetness  fills  the  breast ) 
But  sweeter  far  Thy  Face  to  see, 
And  in  Thy  Presence  rest. 

No  voice  can  sing,  nor  heart  can  frame. 

Nor  can  the  memory  find 
A  sweeter  sound  than  Thy  blest  Name 

O  Saviour  of  mankind  ! 

O  Hope  of  every  contrite  heart ! 

O  joy  of  all  the  meek. 
To  those  who  fall  how  kind  Thou  art ! 

How  good  to  those  who  seek. 

But  what  to  those  who  find  .^     Ah  !  this 
No  tongue  nor  pen  can  show  : 

The  love  of  Jesus, — what  it  is, 
None  but  His  loved  ones  know. 

Jesus  !  our  only  joy  be  Thou, 

As  Thou  our  crown  wilt  be  : 
In  Thee  be  all  our  glory  now 

And  through  eternity. 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux. 

(About  1140.) 

7V.  6y  E.  Caswell.    (1849.) 

This  is  in  a  MS.  of  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century  in  the 
Bodleian  Museum. 

* 

54 


-^ 


TTESL  ,  Thou  Joy  of  loving  hearts  ! 

Thou  Fount  of  life  !  Thou  Light  of  men  ! 
From  the  best  bliss  that  earth  im23arts, 
We  turn  unfilled  to  Thee  aeain. 


"to^ 


Thy  truth  unchanged  hath  ever  stood  ; 

Thou  savest  those  that  on  Thee  call ; 
To  them  that  seek  Thee  Thou  art  good ; 

To  them  that  find  Thee,  All  in  All ! 

We  taste  Thee,  O  Thou  living  Bread, 
And  long  to  feast  upon  Thee  still ; 

We  drink  of  Thee,  the  Fountain-head, 
And  thirst  our  souls  from  Thee  to  fill. 

Our  restless  spirits  yearn  for  Thee, 
Where'er  our  changeful  lot  is  cast ; 

Glad  when  Thy  gracious  smile  we  see. 
Blest  when  our  faith  can  hold  Thee  fast. 

Lord  Jesus,  ever  with  us  stay, 

Make  all  our  moments  calm  and  bright ; 
Chase  the  dark  night  of  sin  away  ; 

Shed  o'er  the  world  Thy  Holy  Light. 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux. 

(a.d.  1140.) 
Tr.  by  Dr.  Ray  Palmer.    (1858.) 


35 


SUNDAY 

Eternal    Life 

/~\H  what  their  joy  and  their  glory  must  be 

Those  endless  Sabbaths  the  blessed  ones  see  ! 
Crown  for  the  valiant :  to  weary  ones  rest : 
God  shall  be  all,  and  in  all  ever  blest. 

There  where  no  trouble  distraction  can  bring, 
Safely  the  anthems  of  Sion  shall  sing  : 
Whilst  for  Thy  grace,  Lord,  their  voices  of  praise 
Thy  blessed  people  shall  evermore  raise. 

There  dawns  no  Sabbath — no  Sabbath  is  o'er ; 
Those  Sabbath-keepers  have  one,  evermore ; 
One  and  unending  is  that  triumph-song 
Which  to  the  angels  and  us  shall  belong. 

Low  before  Him  with  our  praises  we  fall. 
Of  Whom,  and  in  Whom,  and  through  Whom  are  all : 
Of  Whom, — the  Father,  and  in  Whom, — the  Son  ; 
Through  Whom,  and  the  Spirit  with  these  ever  one. 

Peter  Abelard. 

(Born  A.D.  1079.) 
Tr.  by  Dr.  Neale.     (1854.) 

■    From  a  MS.  of  the  twelfth  century. 


56 


^ >^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    THIRTEENTH    CENTURY 


>^ ->^ 

57 


-^ 


TliE   GOLDEN   SEQUENCE 

"  Veni,  Sancte  Spiritus" 

IIOLY  spirit:   come,  we  pray, 

Shed  from  heaven  Thine  inward  ray, 
Kindle  darkness  into  day. 

Come,  Thou  Father  of  the  poor. 
Come,  Thou  source  of  all  our  store. 
Light  of  hearts  for  evermore. 

Light  most  blissful !     Fire  divine  ! 
Fill,  oh  !  fill  these  hearts  of  Thine  ! 
On  our  inmost  being  shine. 

If  in  Thee  it  be  not  wrought. 
All  in  men  is  simply  nought. 
Nothing  pure  in  deed  and  thought. 

On  the  faithful  who  confide, 
Solely  in  Thyself  as  Guide, 
Let  Thy  sevenfold  gifts  abide. 

'  Grant  them  virtue's  full  increase. 
Grant  them  safe  and  sweet  release. 
Grant  them  everlasting  peace  ! 

Early  thirteenth  centmy,  the  supposed  date,  though  this, 
like  the  authorship,  must  remain  uncertain.  Called  by  Arch- 
bishop Trench  "  the  loveliest  of  all  the  hymns  in  the  whole 
circle  of  Latin  sacred  poetry." 

■>B li* 

59 


^ : >^ 

DIES    IRM 

T\IES  ira>,  dies  ilia 

Solvet  sieckim  in  favilla, 
Crucis  explicaus  vexilla. 

Qiiantus  tremor  est  fu turns, 
Qiiaiiclo  Judex  est  venturus, 
Cuncta  stricte  discussurus ! 

Tuba,  mirum  spargens  sonum 
Per  sepulehra  regionum, 
Coget  omnes  ante  Thronum. 

Mors  stnpebit  et  natura, 
Quum  resurget  creatura, 
Judicanti  responsura. 

Liber  scriptus  proferetur, 
In  quo  totum  continetur, 
Unde  mundus  judicetur. 

Judex  ergo  cum  sedebit, 
Quidquid  latet,  apparebit. 
Nil  inultum  remanebit. 

Quid  sum  miser  tum  dicturus, 
Quem  patronum  rogaturus, 
Quum  vix  Justus  sit  securus  ? 

^ '■ >^ 

60 


^ ^. 

DIES    IR.^ 

"T^A^  of  Doom^  the  last  and  greatest, 
-'-^  Which  the  waning  world  awaitest. 
Sung  by  earliest  seers  and  latest. 

How  shall  all  men  faint  for  fearing. 
When  the  Judgment  Sign  appearing 
Bids  the  world  to  that  great  hearing. 

When,  the  grave's  long  silence  breaking. 
Peals  the  trump  the  nations  waking. 
Round  the  throne  to  muster  quaking. 

Earth  herself  and  Death  affrighted. 
Open  fast  their  dens  benighted. 
That  the  souls  may  be  requited. 

Forth  are  borne  the  heavy  pages 

Of  the  records  of  all  ages, 

All  men's  deeds  and  all  men's  wages. 

Then  the  Judge  in  solemn  session 
Drags  to  day  each  dark  confession. 
Dooms  each  vainly-veiled  transgression. 

Woe  is  me,  for  who  shall  hear  me  ? 
What  kind  saint  from  Judgment  bear  me. 
While  the  just  stand  trembling  near  me  ? 


61 


->^ 


Dies  Ir^e — (continued) 

Rex  tremendae  majestatis. 
Qui  Salvandos  salvas  gratis, 
Salva  me,  fons  pietatis  ! 

Recordare,  Jesus  pie, 
Quod  sum  causa  tuae  viae ; 
Ne  me  perdas  ilia  die  ! 

Quaerens  me  sedisti  lassus, 
Redemisti  cruce  passus  : 
Tantus  labor  noii  sit  cassus  ! 

Juste  judex  ultionis, 
Donum  fac  remissionis 
Ante  diem  rationis  ! 

Ingemisco  tan^^uam  reus. 
Culpa  rubet  vultus  meus  : 
Supplicanti  parce,  Deus ! 

Qui  Mariam  absolvisti, 
Et  latronem  exaudisti, 
Mihi  quoque  spem  dedisti. 

Preces  meae  non  sunt  dignae, 
Sed  tu  bonus  fac  benigne, 
Ne  perenni  cremer  igne. 


►i< ^ * 


■* 


Dies  Ir^e — (continued) 

Thou,  the  King  of  that  dread  splendour, 

Art  the  sinners'  sole  Defender  : 

Save  Thou  me,  Thou  King  most  tender. 

Wrought  for  me  and  my  salvation 

Was  Thy  lowliest  incarnation  : 

Canst  Thou  speak  my  condemnation  ? 

Thou  hast  sought  me  weary,  sighing ; 
Thou  hast  bought  me  by  Thy  dying  ; 
Save  us  on  Thy  pains  relying. 

Righteous  Judge  to  save  or  slay  me, 

Free  of  my  offences  make  me. 

Ere  the  reckoning  Day  o'ertake  me. 

Sin  and  shame  upon  me  turning 
Brand  my  brow  with  guilty  burning  ; 
Pity  me  for  pity  yearning. 

By  the  Magdalene  forgiven. 
By  the  dying  Robber  shriven, 
E'en  to  me  a  hope  is  given. 

Judgment  halteth  not  for  weeping  ; 
Yet  Thy  death's  dear  merits  reaping. 
Save  me  from  the  fire  unsleeping. 


* -. * 

63. 


>^ »5( 


Dies  Ir^e — (cofitmued) 

Inter  oves  locum  praesta, 
Et  ab  haedis  ine  sequestra, 
Statuens  in  parte  dextra. 

Confutatis  maledictis, 
Flammis  acribus  addictis, 
Voca  me  cum  benedictis. 

Lachrymosa  dies  ilia, 
Qua  resurget  ex  favilla 
Judicandus  homo  reus  ; 
Huic  ergo  parce,  Deus  ! 


Thomas  de  Celano. 
(Between  a.d.  1230  and  1255.) 


Possibly  it  was  as  his  own  life  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  Great  Day  gathered  nearer  him,  that  he 
•poured  out  his  soul  in  his  great  hymn — the  greatest  of  all 
hymns,  unless  we  except  the  "Te  Deum." 


•^ 6i ^ * 


>^ ^ 

Dies  Ir^e — (contimiecV) 

From  the  ooats  Thy  suppHaiit  sever : 
With  Thy  sheep  my  soul  deHver, 
Safe  at  T\\j  right  Hand  for  ever. 

When  Thy  Face  from  them  is  hidden, 
When  the  accurst  to  flames  are  chidden, 
Let  me  to  Thy  house  be  bidden. 

Day  of  tears  and  bitter  mourning. 

When  mankind  from  this  world's  burning 

Rise  to  sorrow  or  salvation ! 

Lord,  receive  my  supplication — 

Jesu,  Saviour  of  the  world, 

Grant  us  everlasting  rest. 

Thomas  of  Celano. 

Tr.  by  ARCHBISHOP   BENSON.      (1860.) 

The  oldest  MS.  in  which  this  Great  Sequence  is  known  in 
this  form,  is  of  the  fourteentli  century,  now  in  the  Bodleian 
Library.  There  is  another  thirteenth-century  MS.  at  Zurich, 
with  varied  text ;  also  one  slightly  different  in  an  undated  MS. 
in  the  British  Museum.  It  was  first  regarded  as  an  Advent 
Hymn,  but  soon  brought  into  the  Service  for  the  Dead. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Goethe  both  made  use  of  it  with  great 
effect.  Daniel,  in  his  work  on  Latin  Hymnody,  written  early 
in  the  last  century,  says,  "  Even  those  to  whom  the  hymns  of 
the  Latin  Church  are  almost  entirely  unknown,  certainly  know 
this  one ;  and  if  any  one  can  be  found  so  alien  from  human 
nature  that  they  have  no  appreciation  of  sacred  poetry,  yet, 
as  a  matter  of  certainty,  even  they  would  give  their  minds 
to  this  hymn,  of  which  every  word  is  weighty,  yea,  even  a 
thunderclap." 

^ ^ 

65  E 


^ — >^ 


DIES  IR^ 

(Another  Translation) 

T^AY  of  Wrath  !     O  Day  of  mournino- ! 
^-^  See  the  Son's  dread  Sign  returning  ; 
Heaven  and  earth  in  ashes  burning. 

Oh  !  what  fear  the  sinners  rendeth, 
When  from  heaven  the  Judge  descendeth 
On  Whose  sentence  all  dependeth. 

Wondrous  sound  the  Trumpet  flingeth. 
Through  earth's  sepulchres  it  ringeth. 
All  before  the  Throne  it  bringeth. 


Lo  the  Book  exactly  worded, 
Wherein  all  has  been  recorded, 
Thence  shall  Judgment  be  awarded. 


^■ 


m 


King  of  Majesty  tremendous. 
Who  dost  free  salvation  send  us. 
Fount  of  pity — then  befriend  us. 

Day  of  sorrow,  day  of  fear 

When  the  summons  all  shall  hear. 

And  before  the  Judge  appear. 

Ah,  the  day  of  tears  and  mourning  ! 
From  the  dust  of  earth  returning, 
Man  for  judgment  must  prepare  him. 

Lord,  all-pitying  Jesu  blest. 
Save  the  souls  with  sin  opprest. 
Grant  us  Thine  eternal  rest. 


From  the  Sarura  Hymnal.  Ti*.  from  Thomas  of  Celano, 
1230.  As  early  as  1285  used  in  the  Church  service  for  the 
dead.  There  are  not  less  than  160  English  and  90  German 
translations  of  this  ancient  Latin  hymn. 


67 


^ — ^ 


rpHEE  we  adore^  0  unseen  Saviour!  Thee, 

Who  in  Thy  Feast  art  pleased  with  us  to  be. 
Both  flesh  and  spirit  at  Thy  Presence  foil. 
Yet  here  Thy  Presence  we  devoutly  hail. 

Oh,  blest  Memorial  of  our  dying  Lord, 
Who  living  Bread  to  men  doth  here  afford ! 
Oh  may  our  souls  for  ever  feed  on  Thee, 
And  Thou,  O  Christ,  for  ever  precious  be  ! 

Fountain  of  goodness  !     Jesu,  Lord  and  God  ! 
Cleanse  us,  unclean,  with  Thy  most  cleansing  Blood  ; 
Increase  our  faith  and  love,  that  we  may  know 
The  hope  and  peace  which  from  Thy  Presence  flow. 

O  Christ !  Whom  now  beneath  a  veil  we  see. 
May  what  we  thirst  for  soon  our  portion  be  ; 
To  gaze  on  Thee  unveiled,  and  see  Thy  Face, 
The  vision  of  Thy  glory  and  Thy  grace. 

Thomas  Aquinas. 
(Born  about  a.d.  1225.) 

Tr.  by  Bishop  Woodford  of^Ely. 


68 


^ — ->b 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    FOURTEENTH    CENTURY 


69 


^- ^ 


T)  Y   the  Cross  in  anguish  sighing, 

Where  the  King  of  saints  hung  dying, 

Bathed  in  tears  the  Mother  stood : 
Througli  her  heart,  with  sorrows  riven, 
Sharp  the  destined  sword  was  driven 

Sharp  beyond  her  worst  forebode. 

Father  !  hear  my  suppUcation  ! 
Through  Thy  Son's  most  bitter  Passion, 

In  His  Wounds  some  part  I  crave  : 
Let  me  by  His  Cross  stand  weeping, 
Still  with  Him  sad  vigil  keeping, 

On  my  pathway  to  the  grave ! 

Jesu  !  may  Thy  Cross  defend  me  ! 
Through  Thy  Death  salvation  send  me. 

Shield  me  with  Thy  grace  and  love  ! 
When  death  severs  flesh  and  spirit. 
May  my  soul,  through  Thee,  inherit 

Thy  bright  Paradise  above  ! 


This  most  pathetic  hymn  of  the  Middle  Ages  has  been 
attributed  to  many  authors,  from  Gregory  the  Great  down  to 
Pope  John  XXII. ;  but  it  is  now  thought  by  late  manuscript 
students  to  have  been  written  by  Jacob  Beuedictus,  who  lived 
in  the  fourteenth  century. 

The  hymn  is  in  two  MSS.  of  1390. 


71 


>h         -^ 


TESUS  CHRIST  is  risen  to-day. 

Our  triumphant  Holy  Day, 
Who  so  lately  on  the  Cross 
Suffered  to  redeem  our  loss. 


Hymns  of  praises  let  us  sing, 
Hymns  to  Christ  our  heavenly  King, 
Who  endured  both  Cross  and  grave. 
Sinners  to  redeem  and  save. 

In  our  Paschal  joy  and  feast. 

Let  the  Lord  of  Life  be  blest. 

Let  the  Triune  God  be  praised, 

And  thankful  hearts  to  heaven  be  raised. 


This  Easter  hymn,  by  an  unknown  authoi-,  is  found  in  three 
manuscripts  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

With  the  fourteenth  century  the  bright  period  of  Latin 
hymnody  expires. 


72 


* ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    FIFTEENTH    CENTURY 


IS 


^ ^ 


TF  there  be  that  skills  to  reckon 
All  the  number  of  the  blest, 
He  perchance  can  weigh  the  gladness 

Of  the  Everlasting  Rest, 
Which,  their  earthly  warfare  finished. 
They  through  suffering  have  possessed. 

Through  the  vale  of  lamentation, 

Happily  and  safely  past, 
Now  the  years  of  their  affliction 

In  their  memory  recast, 
And  the  end  of  all  perfection 
They  can  contemplate  at  last. 

In  a  glass  through  types  and  riddles 
Dwelling  here  we  see  alone  ; 

Then  serenely,  purely,  clearly. 
We  shall  know  as  we  are  known. 

Fixing  our  enlightened  vision 

On  the  glory  of  the  Throne. 


^ ^^ * 


>^ 


There  the  Trinity  of  persons, 

Unbeclouded  we  shall  see : 
There  the  Unity  of  essence 

Shall  revealed  in  glory  be. 
While  we  hail  the  Threefold  Godhead, 
And  the  simple  Unity. 

Therefore,  man,  take  heart  and  courage, 

Whatsoe'er  thy  present  pain  ; 
Such  untold  reward  through  suffering, 

It  is  given  thee  to  attain. 
And  for  ever  in  His  glory. 
With  the  Light  of  Light  to  reign. 

Tr.  by  Dr.  J.  M.  Neale.     (1854.)     From  a  manuscript  at 
Karlsruhe  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

The  hymn  was  chosen  for  Archbishop  Benson's  Funeral 
Service  in  Canterbury  Cathedral  in  1896. 


76 


^ ^ 


ETERNAL   LIFE 

XN  the  far  celestial  land, 

-^     Countless  angels  radiant  stand  : 

Love  divine  each  soul  inspires. 

With  a  zeal  that  never  tires ; 
Evermore  their  voices  raise, 

Joyful  hymns  of  love  and  praise  ; 
To  the  King,  Whose  effluence  bright. 

Gladdens  their  entranced  sight. 

Clothed  in  glory  like  the  morn. 

On  unflagging  pinions  borne. 
Ranged  on  high  in  dazzling  tiers. 

Through  the  calm  unchanging  years, 
That  exultant  angel  throng 

Pours  a  flood  of  thrilling  song, 
"  Holy,  holy,"  still  they  cry 

"Glory  to  the  Lord  Most  High." 


^- 


77 


*- 


Blessed  Country^  home  of  peace, 

Land  whose  anthems  never  cease  ; 
Where  the  weary  faint  no  more  ; 

Where  the  mourners'  griefs  are  o'er  : 
On  whose  fair  immortal  strand 

God's  own  bright  and  happy  band. 
Men  and  angels  dwell  secure 

'Mid  the  joys  that  shall  endure. 

Thomas  a  Kempis. 
(Died  1471.) 

Tr.  hy  Mrs.  H.  M.  CHESTER.     (1871.) 


From  a  fifteenth  -  century  manuscript.  The  author  of 
"  i>e  Imitatione  Christi"  died  in  1471;  and  two  centuries 
after,  his  remains  were  disinterred  for  more  honourable 
burial,  in  1672. 


* -, * 


^ ^ >^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    SIXTEENTH    CENTURY 


19 


^ ■ ^ 


"T^AME   of  our  triumphant  Saviour 

By  the  tongue  unspeakable. 
Name  of  gladness  passing  measure. 

To  the  ear  delectable  ; 
And  our  safeguard,  and  our  treasure, 

And  our  help  from  sin  and  hell. 

Christ  the  Name,  by  right  exalted 

Over  eveiy  other  name  ; 
This,  when  we  are  sore  assaulted, 

Puts  our  enemies  to  shame  ; 
Strength  to  them  that  else  had  halted. 

Eyes  to  blind,  and  feet  to  lame. 

Jesus  !  we  Thy  Name  adoring. 
Long  to  see  Thee  as  Thou  art. 

Of  Thy  clemency  imploring 
So  to  write  it  in  our  heart. 

That  hereafter,  heavenward  soaring. 
We  with  angels  may  have  part ! 


Author  unknown.      The  hymn  is  in  a  sixteenth-century 
manuscript  at  Meissen. 

Tr.  by  R.  C.  Singleton.     (1867.) 


81  F 


^ ^ 


DE   PROFUNDIS 

/^UT  of  the  depths  I  eiy  to  Thee^ 
^^      Lord  God  !  oh  hear  my  prayer  ! 
Inchne  a  gracious  ear  to  me, 

And  bid  me  not  despair  : 
If  Thou  rememberest  each  misdeed, 
If  each  should  have  its  rightful  meed, 

Lord,  who  shall  stand  before  Thee  ? 

Lord,  through  Thy  love  alone  we  gain, 

The  pardon  of  our  sin  ; 
The  strictest  life  is  but  in  vain, 

Our  works  can  nothing  win. 
That  none  should  boast  himself  of  aught. 
But  own  in  fear  Thy  grace  hath  wTOught 

What  in  him  seemeth  righteous. 

Wherefore  my  hope  is  in  the  Lord, 

My  works  I  count  but  dust ; 
I  build  not  there,  but  on  His  word. 

And  in  His  goodness  trust. 
Up  to  His  care  myself  I  yield, 
He  is  my  tower,  my  rock,  my  shield. 

And  for  His  help  I  tarry. 


* 


82 


^ >^ 


And  though  it  tarry  till  the  night. 

And  round  again  to  morn, 
My  heart  shall  ne'er  mistrust  Thy  might, 

Nor  count  itself  forlorn. 
Do  thus,  O  ye  of  Israel's  seed. 
Ye  of  the  Spirit  born  indeed, 

Wait  for  your  God's  appearing. 

Though  great  our  sins  and  sore  our  wounds, 

And  deep  and  dark  our  ftill. 
His  helping  mercy  hath  no  bounds. 

His  love  surpasseth  all. 
Our  trusty  loving  Shepherd  He, 
Who  shall  at  last  set  Israel  free 

From  all  their  sin  and  sorrow. 

Luther.     (1524.) 
Tr.  by  Miss  C.  WiNKWORTH.     (1855.) 

This  hymn  was  sung  at  the  funeral  of  the  Elector 
Frederick  "the  Wise"  in  1525.  Again,  in  1546,  at  Luther's 
own  funeral.  And  it  was  the  last  hymn  sung  in  the 
Cathedral  of  Strasbourg  before  the  French  captured  that 
city  in  1681. 


83 


^ ->h 


HYMN   OF   LUTHER 

A      SAFE  stronghold  our  God  is  stilly 
■^-^      A  trusty  shield  and  weapon  ; 
He'll  help  us  clear  from  all  the  ill 
That  hath  us  now  o'ertaken. 
The  ancient  Prince  of  Hell 
Hath  risen  with  purpose  fell ; 
Strong  mail  of  Craft  and  Power 
He  beareth  in  this  hour. 
On  Earth  is  not  his  fellow. 

With  force  of  arms  we  nothing  can, 
Full  soon  were  we  down-ridden  ; 
But  for  us  fights  the  proper  Man 
Whom  God  Himself  hath  bidden. 
Ask  ye,  Who  is  this  same  ? 
Christ  Jesus  is  His  Name, 
The  Lord  Sabaoth's  Son, 
He,  and  no  other  one, 
Shall  conquer  in  the  battle. 


>b- 


8+ 


■^ 


And  were  this  world  all  devils  o'er. 

And  watching  to  devour  us, 
We  lay  it  not  to  heart  so  sore, 
Nor  can  they  overpower  us. 
And  let  the  Prince  of  111 
Look  grim  as  e'er  he  will, 
He  harms  us  not  a  whit  : 
For  why  ?      His  doom  is  writ^ 
A  word  shall  quickly  slay  him. 

God's  Word,  for  all  their  craft  and  force, 

One  moment  will  not  linger. 
But  spite  of  Hell  shall  have  its  course, 
'Tis  written  by  His  Finger. 

And  though  they  take  our  life. 
Goods,  honour,  children,  wife, 
Yet  is  their  profit  small ; 
These  things  shall  vanish  all, 
The  City  of  God  remaineth. 

Luther.     (I5^y.) 
Tr.  by  THOMAS  Carlyle.     (1831.) 

"  Ein'  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott,"  called  by  Heine  the  Mar- 
seillaise Hymn  of  the  Keformation.  No  copy  remains  of 
the  tune  originally  written  for  it  by  Luther.  His  words 
"  were  half -battles,"  it  has  been  said,  with  regard  to  their 
stern  power  and  ruggedness,  "like  the  sound  of  Alpine 
avalanches,  or  the  first  murmur  of  earthquakes."  Carlyle 
has  left  on  record  that  after  the  lapse  of  three  centuries  he 
was  the  first  to  render  the  hymn  into  English. 

»i^ ^ 

85 


^ ->^ 


THE     CHILU^S     CHRISTMAS    HYMN 

/^  IVE  heed,  my  heart,  hft  up  thine  eyes, 
^^^       Who  is  it  in  yon  manger  Hes  ? 
Who  is  this  Child,  so  young  and  fair  ? 
The  blessed  Christ-Child  lieth  there. 

Ah  dearest  Jesus,  holy  Child, 
Make  Thee  a  bed  soft,  undefiled. 
Within  my  heart,  that  it  may  be 
A  quiet  temple  kept  for  Thee. 

My  heart  for  very  joy  doth  leap. 
My  lips  no  more  can  silence  keep, 
I  too  must  sing  with  joyful  tone 
That  sweetest  ancient  cradle  song. 

Glory  to  God  in  highest  Heaven, 
Who  unto  me  His  Son  hath  given. 
While  Angels  sing  with  sacred  mirth 
A  glad  New  Year  to  all  the  Earth. 

Luther.      (1535.) 
Tr.  by  C.  WlNK WORTH. 

Written  by  Luther  for  bis  little  son  Hans. 


THE  JOYS  AND  GLORIES  OF  PARADISE 

JERUSALEM,  my  happy  home. 
When  shall  I  come  to  thee  ? 
When  shall  my  labours  have  an  end  ? 
Thy  joj^s  when  shall  I  see  ? 

O  happy  harbour  of  the  Saints, 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil. 
In  thee  no  sorrow  may  be  found. 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil  ! 

In  thee  no  sickness  may  be  seen. 

No  hurt,  no  ache,  no  sore  ; 
There  is  no  death,  nor  trouble  known. 

But  Life  for  evermore. 

No  dampish  mist  is  seen  in  thee. 

No  cold  nor  darksome  night ; 
There  every  soul  shines  as  the  sun. 

There  God  Himself  gives  light ! 

Hierusalem  !  Hierusalem  ! 

God  grant  I  once  may  see 
Thy  endless  joys,  and  of  the  same 

Partaker  soon  to  be. 


This  trauslation  is  au  undated  manuscript  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  now  in  the  British  Museum.  The  authorship  is 
unknown.  It  has  been  ascribed  to  St.  Augustine,  and  is 
undoubtedly  founded  on  his  "  Meditations."  There  were 
two  translations  made  in  the  sixteenth  century,  of  which  the 
above  is  signed  by  F.  B.  P.,  whose  identity  cannot  now  be 
traced. 


87 


^i— ^ 


"  Turbabor   sed   non  perturbabor,  Quia  vulnerum   Christi 
recordabor." — St.  Aurjustine. 


^TTHP2N  my  appointed  hour  is  come 

To  pass  from  earth  for  ever, 
Lord  Jesus,  guide  me  to  my  home 

Across  death's  gloomy  river ; 
My  soul  I  yield  into  Thy  Hand, 
As  on  life's  margin  lone  I  stand  : 

Thou  wilt  from  harm  defend  her. 


In  number  more  than  sands  on  shore 

Of  ocean  are  my  errors, 
And  they  afflict  and  pain  me  sore  ; 

Still  death  hath  lost  his  terrors. 
For  Jesus,  Lord  !  I  think  of  Thee, 
Thy  wounds.  Thy  death,  endured  for  me  : 

Herein  is  found  my  comfort. 


^- 


88 


*- 


-* 


1  shall  not  in  the  grave  remain, 

Since  Thou  death's  bonds  hast  severed  ; 

By  hope  with  Thee  to  rise  again, 
From  fear  of  death  deUvered. 

I'll  come  to  Thee,  where'er  Thou  art. 

Live  with  Thee,  from  Thee  never  part ; 
Therefore  to  die  is  rapture. 

And  so  to  Jesus  Christ  I  go. 

My  longing  arms  extending  ; 
So  fall  asleep  in  slumber  deej), 

Slumber  that  knows  no  ending. 
Till  Jesus  Christ,  God's  only  Son, 
Opens  the  gates  of  bliss — leads  on 

To  heaven,  to  life  eternal ! 

NicoLAUs  Herman.     (Before  1559.) 


A  chorale  from  the  two  last  verses  here  given  was  ordered 
by  Queen  Victoria  to  be  translated  for  the  funeral  of  the 
Prince  Consort  in  1861.  The  whole  hymn  was  not  rendered 
into  English  until  1867. 

^ >i< 

89 


^- 


A  LL  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell, 

Sing  to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice. 
Him  serve  with  fear,  His  praise  forth  tell, 
Come  ye  before  Him  and  rejoice. 

The  Lord^  ye  know,  is  God  indeed  ; 

Without  our  aid  He  did  us  make  ; 
We  are  His  flock.  He  doth  us  feed. 

And  for  His  sheep  He  doth  us  take. 

O  enter  then  His  gates  with  praise, 
Approach  with  joy  His  Courts  unto ; 

Praise^  laud,  and  bless  His  Name  always, 
For  it  is  seemly  so  to  do. 

For  why  ?  the  Lord  our  God  is  good  ; 

His  mercy  is  for  ever  sure  ; 
His  truth  at  all  times  firmly  stood. 

And  shall  from  age  to  age  endure. 

To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost 

The  God  Whom  Heaven  and  earth  adore. 

From  men  and  from  the  Angel-host 
Be  praise  and  glory  evermore. 

W.  Kethe.     (1560.) 

This  hymn  appeared  in  the  Psalters  of  England  and  Geneva 
almost  simultaneously.  The  melody  to  which  it  is  always 
sung,  long  known  as  the  "Old  Hundredth,"  was  composed 
by  Louis  Bourgeois,  editor  of  the  Psalter  of  Geneva,  1561. 


90 


ETERNAL    LIFE 

AWAKE,  awake,  for  night  is  flying, 
-     The  watchmen  on  the  heights  are  crying 
Awake,  Jerusalem,  at  last ! 
Midnight  hears  the  welcome  voices, 
And  at  the  thrilling  cry  rejoices. 

Come  forth,  ye  virgins^  niglit  is  past ! 
The  Bridegroom  comes  ;  awake^ 
Your  lamps  with  gladness  take. 

Hallelujah  ! 
And  for  His  marriage  feast  prepare. 
For  ye  must  go  to  meet  Him  there. 

Zion  hears  the  watchmen  singing, 
And  all  her  heart  with  joy  is  springing, 

She  wakes,  she  rises  from  her  gloom  ; 
For  her  Lord  comes  down  all  glorious, 
The  strong  in  grace,  in  truth  victorious. 

Her  star  is  risen,  her  light  is  come  ! 
Ah,  come  Thou  blessed  Lord, 
O  Jesus,  Son  of  God, 

Hallelujah  ! 
We  follow  till  the  halls  we  see 
Where  Thou  hast  bid  us  sup  with  Thee. 

Dr.   PiiiLipp  NicoLAi.     (1598.) 
7V.  bij  C.  WiNKWOliTH  in  1858. 

Nicolai  was  universally  esteemed  in  his  time.  His  hymns 
are  of  the  first  rank,  thoutz;!!  only  four  have  come  inlo  use. 
He  also  composed  for  the  above  the  melody,  wliich  has  been 
called  "  The  King  of  Chorales."  It  was  used  by  Mendelssohn 
in  his  "  St.  Paul." 

91 


^ ^ >^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    SEVENTEENTH    CENTURY 


93 


HYMN    TO    GOD    THE    FATHER 

TTT^ILT  Thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  begun 
^  *         Which   was   my   sin^    though    it    were    none 
before  ? 
Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin^  through  which  I  run, 

And  do  run  still,  though  still  I  do  deplore  ? 
When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done, 
For  I  have  more. 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  1  have  won 
Others  to  sin  ?  and  made  my  sin  their  door  ? 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  did  shun 
A  year  or  two,  but  followed  in  a  score  ? 

When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done. 
For  I  have  more. 

There  is  a  sin  of  fear,  that  when  I  have  spun 
My  last  thread,  I  shall  perish  on  the  shore ; 

But  swear  by  Thyself,  that  at  my  death  Thy  Son 
Shall  shine  as  He  shines  now,  and  heretofore  ; 

And  having  done  that.  Thou  hast  done  — 

I  fear  no  more. 

(1621.) 

This  quaint  hymn  of  the  earl}-  seventeenth  century  was 
written  by  the  saintly  Dr.  Doinie,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  and 


95 


^ — ->^ 


was  often  sung  in  his  day,  Izaak  Walton  records,  "to  a  most 
grave  and  solemn  Lenten  tune  in  the  eveniDg  service  in  the 
old  cathedral." 

Dr.  Donne  was  so  famous  as  a  preacher  that  he  had  the 
offer  of  fourteen  livings  during  his  first  year  in  Holy 
Orders. 

He  was  called  "the  glorious  preacher,"  A  passage  from 
one  of  his  sermons  is  added  here.  It  was  given  in  1025  in 
Old  St.  Paul's,  before  the  Great  Fire : — 

"As  my  soule  shall  not  goe  towards  Heaven,  but  goe  by 
Heaven  to  the  Heaven  of  Heavens,  so  the  true  joy  of  a  good 
soule  in  this  world  is  the  very  joy  of  Heaven  ;  and  we  goe 
thither,  not  that  being  without  joy  we  might  have  joy  in- 
fused into  us,  but  that,  as  Christ  sayes,  our  joy  might  be  full, 
perfected,  sealed  with  an  everlastingnesse  :  for  as  He  promises 
that  no  man  shall  take  our  joy  from  us,  so  neither  shall  Death 
itself e  take  it  away.  But  I  shall  see  the  face  of  God  (for 
everything  shall  be  a  glasse  to  reflect  God  upon  me) ;  so  in 
Death,  and  the  anguish  of  that  dissolution,  in  the  sorrowes 
of  that  valediction,  in  the  irreversiblenesse  of  that  trans- 
migration, I  shall  have  a  joy  which  shall  no  more  evaporate, 
a  joy  that  shall  passe  up  and  put  on  a  more  glorious  garment 
above,  and  be  joy  superinvested  in  glory.     Ameu." 


^ * 

96 


-^ 


THE    LORD'S   DAY 

/^  DA"^'  most  calm,  most  bright ; 

The  Fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's  bud: 
The  indorsement  of  supreme  delight, 
Writ  by  a  Friend,  and  with  His  Blood ; 
The  couch  of  time  ;  care's  bahn  and  bay  ; 
The  week  were  dark  but  for  thy  light ; 

The  torch  doth  show  the  way. 

Sundays  the  pillars  are 
On  which  Heaven's  palace  arched  lies ; 
The  other  days  fill  up  the  spare 
And  hollow  room  with  vanities  : 
They  are  the  fruitful  beds  and  borders 
Of  God's  rich  garden  ;  that  is  bare 

Which  parts  their  ranks  and  orders. 


*- 


The  Sundays  of  man's  life, 
Threaded  together  on  time's  string, 
Make  Bracelets  to  adorn  the  wife 
Of  the  Eternal  glorious  King: 
On  Sundays  Heaven's  gate  stands  ope  : 
Blessings  are  plentiful  and  rife. 

More  plentiful  than^hope. 


97 


^ — »^ 


This  day  my  Saviour  rose, 
And  did  enclose  this  light  for  His, 
With  the  same  shake  which  at  His  passion 
Did  the  earth,  and  all  things  with  it  move  ; 
As  Samson  bore  the  doors  away, 

Christ's  Hands,  though  nailed,  wrought  our  salvation 
And  did  unhinge  that  day. 

The  brightness  of  that  day, 
He  sullies  by  our  foul  offence  ; 
Wherefore  the  robe  we  east  away. 
Having  a  new  at  his  expense. 
Whose  drops  of  Blood  jmid  the  full  price 
That  was  required  to  make  us  gay. 
And  fit  for  paradise. 

George  Herbert.     (1()32.) 


98 


* ■ ^ 

rriEACH  me,  my  God  and  King, 
-■-       In  all  things  Thee  to  see  ; 
And  what  I  do  in  anything, 
To  do  it  as  for  Thee. 

To  scorn  the  senses'  sway. 

While  still  to  Thee  I  tend  : 
In  all  I  do  be  Thou  the  Way^ — 

In  all  be  Thou  the  End. 

All  may  of  Thee  partake  ; 

Nothing  so  small  can  be 
But  draws,  when  acted  for  Thy  sake. 

Greatness  and  worth  from  Thee. 

If  done  to  obey  Thy  Laws, 

Even  servile  labours  shine  : 
Hallowed  all  toil,  if  this  the  cause. 

The  meanest  work  divine. 

George  Herbert.      (1532.) 
Altered  by  JoHN  WESLEY.     (1738.) 

In  his  quaint  way  Izaak  Walton  says :  "  The  good  George 
Herbert  seemed  to  be  marked  out  for  piety,  and  to  become 
the  care  of  Heaven ;  so  that,  whereas  he  lived  among  sinners, 
he  yet  pleased  God,  and  was  beloved  of  Him,  so  that  He 
translated  him." 


99 


->^ 


MORNING   HYMN 

SINCE  Thou  hast  added  now,  O  Lord, 
Unto  my  hfe  another  day. 
And  givest  me  leave  to  walk  abroad, 

And  labour  in  m.y  lawful  way ; 
My  walks  and  works  with  me  begin, 
Conduct  me  forth,  and  bring  me  in. 

Let  sin  nor  Satan's  fraud  prevail 
To  make  mine  eye  of  reason  blind. 

Or  faith,  or  hope,  or  love  to  fail. 
Or  any  virtues  of  the  mind  ; 

But  more  and  more  let  them  increase, 

And  bring  me  to  mine  end  in  peace. 

But  guard  Thou  safe  my  heart  in  chief. 
That  neither  hate,  revenge,  nor  fear. 

Nor  vain  desire,  vain  joy,  or  grief. 
Obtain  command  or  dwelling  there  : 

And  Lord  !  with  every  saving  grace. 
Still  true  to  Thee  maintain  that  place  ! 

So  till  the  evening  of  this  morn 

My  time  shall  then  so  well  be  spent. 

That  when  the  twilight  shall  return 
I  may  enjoy  it  with  content. 

And  to  Thy  praise  and  honour  say. 

That  this  hath  proved  a  happy  day. 

George  Wither.     (1641.) 

Most  of  his  best  verse  was  composed  in  pi-ison,  where  he 
was  first  consigned,  for  political  reasons,  by  King  James  I. 
Wither  was  a  devoted  son  of  the  Church,  but  was  also  greatly 
liked  by  the  Puritans. 

I 
_ ►$< 

100 


^ ^ 


SUxNSETTING 


"PEHOLD  the  Sun  that  seemed  but  now 
-*-^      Enthroned  overhead, 
Beginneth  to  decline  below 

The  globe  whereon  we  tread  ; 
And  he  whom  yet  we  look  upon 

With  comfort  and  delight. 
Will  quite  depart  from  hence  anon, 

And  leave  us  to  the  night. 


Thus  time,  unheeded,  steals  away 

The  life  which  nature  gave  ; 
Thus  are  our  bodies  every  day 

Declining  to  the  grave  : 
Thus  from  us  all  our  pleasures  Hy 

Whereon  we  set  our  heart ; 
And  when  the  night  of  death  draws  nigh 

Thus  will  they  all  depart. 


101 


^ -^i 


Lord !  though  the  sun  forsake  our  sight. 

And  mortal  hopes  are  vain  ; 
Let  still  Thine  everlasting  light 

Within  our  souls  remain ! 
And  in  the  nights  of  our  distress 

Vouchsafe  those  rays  divine, 
Which  from  the  Sun  of  Righteousness 

For  ever  brightly  shine. 

George  Wither.      (i641.) 


"  It  is  a  loss  to  the  Church  of  England,  of  whom  Wither 
was  a  devoted  son  to  the  close  of  his  life,  that  not  more  of 
his  hymns  have  found  their  way  into  our  hymnals." — Br. 
Grosart. 

Of  this  hymn  Canon  Julian  has  written  that  "  its  use  is  by 
no  means  equal  to  its  merits." 

Wither,  often  imprisoned,  was  "  a  sufferer  almost  to  martyr- 
dom, both  for  his  loyalty  and  his  orthodoxy,  in  the  troublous 
times  in  which  he  lived." — Montgomery. 


102 


^ — 

LITANY   TO   THE    HOLY   SPHilT 

IN   the  hour  of  my  distress, 
When  temptations  me  oj)press. 
And  when  I  my  sins  confess. 
Great  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  I  He  within  my  bed. 
Sick  in  heart  and  sick  in  head, 
And  with  doubts  discomforted. 
Great  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  house  does  sigh  and  weej). 
And  the  world  is  drowned  in  sleep, 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep. 
Good  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When,  God  knows,  I'm  tossed  about. 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt. 
Yet  before  the  glass  be  out. 
Kind  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  judgment  is  revealed. 
And  that  opened  which  was  sealed, 
When  to  Thee  I  have  appealed. 
Great  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

Robert  Herrick. 

(Born  1591.) 

From  his  "Noble  Numbers,"  published  iu  1647. 

Herrick  was  one  of  the  clergy  ejected  during  the  Common- 
wealth, but  reinstated  at  the  Restoration. 


103 


^■ 


THE    SUMMER   TIME 


TT^ARTH  hath  nothing  sweet  or  fair, 
-"^     Lovely  forms  or  beauties  rare, 
But  before  my  eyes  they  bring 
Christ,  of  beauty  Source  and  Spring. 


When  the  morning  paints  the  skies. 
When  the  golden  sunbeams  rise. 
Then  my  Saviour's  Form  I  find 
Brightly  imaged  on  my  mind. 

When  the  daybeams  pierce  the  night. 
Oft  I  think  on  Jesus'  Light, 
Think  how  bright  that  Light  will  be. 
Shining  through  eternity. 


Lord  of  all  that's  fair  to  see, 
Come,  reveal  Thyself  to  me  : 
Let  me  'midst  Thy  radiant  Light 
See  Thine  unveiled  glories  bright. 


*- 


104 


^ * 


Let  Thy  Deity  profound 
Me  in  heart  and  soul  surround^ 
From  my  heart  its  idols  chase. 
Weaned  from  joys  of  time  and  place. 


Come,  Lord  Jesus  !  and  dispel 
This  dark  cloud  in  which  I  dwell, 
Then  to  me  the  powers  impart 
To  behold  Thee  as  Thou  art ! 


Tr.  bv  F.  E.  Cox. 


Angelus  Silesius. 
(About  1650.) 


Amongst  sacred  poets  Silesius  is  considered  in  the  first 
rank,  and  the  most  gifted  and  deeply  reverent  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  hymn-writers  who  have  appeared  since  the  Refor- 
mation. His  hymns,  however,  were  still  more  widely  used 
in  the  Lutheran  Church. 


105 


>^ ^ 

TTAPPY  are  the  faithful  dead, 
-■- A     In  j^iiQ  Lord  who  sweetly  die, 
They  from  all  their  toils  are  freed, 

In  God's  keeping  safely  lie. 
These  the  Spirit  hath  declared 

Blest,  unutterably  blest ; 
Jesus  is  their  great  reward, 

Jesus  is  their  endless  rest. 

Followed  by  their  works  they  go. 

Where  their  Head  is  gone  before ; 
Reconciled  by  grace  below, 

Grace  has  opened  mercy's  door ; 
Fuller  joys  ordained  to  know. 

Waiting  for  the  last  Great  Day, 
When  the  Archangel's  trump  shall  blow, 

Rise,  to  judgment  come  away. 

Absent  from  our  Loving  Lord 

We  shall  not  continue  long ; 
Join  we,  then,  with  one  accord 

In  the  new,  the  joyful  song. 
Blessing,  honour,  thanks  and  praise. 

Triune  God,  we  pay  to  Thee, 
Who  in  Thine  abundant  grace 

Givest  us  the  victory. 

JoHANN    GeoRG    AlBINUS. 

(Born   1625;    died  in   l679.) 

This  has  been  called  "  A  pearl  in  the  Treasury  of  Song." 


* * 

106 


THE   LAST   HYMN 

1\/riNK  hour  a})pointed  is  at  hand. 

Lord  Jesus  Christ,  attend  me  ; 
Beside  my  bed,  my  Saviour,  stand. 

To  comfort,  help,  defend  me. 
Into  Thy  Hands  I  will  commend 
My  trembling  soul  at  my  last  end. 

How  safe  in  Thy  dear  keeping  ! 

Countless  as  sands  upon  the  shore, 
My  sins  are  thronging  round  me. 

But  though  they  grieve  and  wound  me  sore. 
They  cannot  yet  confound  me. 

Lord,  when  I  die,  I  die  to  Thee. 

Thy  precious  Death  hath  won  for  me 
A  life  that  never  endeth. 

Since  Thou  hast  risen  from  the  Grave, 

The  grave  cannot  detain  me  ; 
I  sleep  in  Thee,  and  rest  so  still. 

No  mortal  man  can  wake  me  ! 
For  Christ  the  Lord  my  soul  doth  wait 
To  open  me  the  Heavenly  Gate 
Which  leads  to  Life  Eternal. 

Nicholas  Herman.     (1()51.) 
Tr.  by  K.  Massie. 


^- 

107 


•$< ^ 

JESUS  i^y  Redeemer  lives, 
Christ  my  trust  is  dead  no  more  ; 
In  the  strength  this  knowledge  gives 
Shall  not  all  my  fears  be  o'er. 
Though  the  night  of  death  be  fraught 
Still  with  many  an  anxious  thought  ? 

Jesus  my  Redeemer  lives, 
And  His  life  I  once  shall  see ; 
Bright  the  ho})e  this  promise  gives, 
Where  He  is,  I  too  shall  be — 
Shall  I  fear,  then  ?     Can  the  Head 
Rise  and  leave  the  members  dead  ? 

I  shall  see  Him  witli  these  eyes. 
Him  whom  I  shall  surely  know, — 
Not  another  shall  I  rise. 
With  his  love  this  heart  shall  glow. 
Only  then  shall  disappear 
Weakness  in  and  round  me  here. 

LuisE  Henrietta.     (1653.) 

Electress  of  Brandenburg,  Mother  of 
King  Frederick  I.  of  Prussia. 

{Tr.  hy  Miss  C.  Winkwoeth  in  1855.) 


A  Princess  of  Orange,  She  was  of.  noble  character,  and 
devoted  herself  towards  promoting  peace  between  the  oppos- 
ing Church  parties  of  the  day.  The  Foundress  also  of  the 
Oranienberg  Orphanage  in  Berlin. 

To  the  Hymn-book  which  the  Electress  caused  to  be  edited 
in  1653,  she  herself  contributed  four  hymns. 

»j( * 

108 


>^ >^ 


T 


IN    PARADISE 


HE^   are  all  gone  into  a  world  of  Light ! 


And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ! 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright. 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory. 
Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days. 

My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary. 
Mere  glimmerings  and  decays. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death  !  the  Jewel  of  the  Just,| 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark. 
What  mysteiies  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust^; 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark  ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged   bird's  nest  may 
know 

At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown. 
But  what  fair  field,  or  grove,  he  sings  in  now. 

That  is  to  liim  unknown. 


109 


^ * 


And  yet  as  Angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 
Call  to  the  soul,  when  man  doth  sleep, 

So  some   strange    thoughts    transcend    our   wonted 
themes, 
And  into  glory  peep  ! 

If  a  star  were  shut  up  within  a  tomb, 

Her  captive  flame  must  needs  burn  there  ; 

But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up  gave  room, 
She'd  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  Thee  ! 
Rescue  my  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 

Into  true  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot,  and  fill 

My  perspective,  still  as  they  pass  : 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill. 

Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

Henry  Vaughan.      (i655.) 


^  110 


^ ^ 


/COMMIT  thou  all  thy  griefs 

And  ways  into  His  Hands, 
To  His  sure  truth  and  tender  care. 
Who  earth  and  Heaven  commands. 


Who  points  the  clouds  their  course, 

W^hom  winds  and  seas  obey  ; 
He  shall  direct  thy  wandering  feet, 

He  shall  prepare  thy  way. 

No  profit  canst  thou  gain 

By  self-consuming  care ; 
To  Him  commend  thy  cause,  His  Ear 

Attends  the  softest  prayer. 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears  ;- 

Hope,  and  be  undismayed  ; 
God  hears  thy  sighs,  and  counts  thy  tears 

God  shall  lift  up  thy  head. 

Through  waves,  and  clouds,  and  storms. 

He  gently  clears  thy  way ; 
Wait  thou  His  time  ;  so  shall  this  night 

Soon  end  in  joyous  day. 


Ill 


■^ 


Still  heavy  is  thy  heart ! 

Still  sink  thy  spirits  down  ! 
Cast  off  the  weight,  let  fear  depart. 

And  every  fear  be  gone. 

What  though  thou  rulest  not  ? 

Yet  Heaven,  and  Earth,  and  Hell, 
Proclaim  God  sitteth  on  the  Throne, 

And  ruleth  all  things  well. 

Far,  far  above  thy  thought 

His  counsel  shall  appear. 
When  fully  He  the  work  hath  wrought, 

That  caused  thy  needless  fear. 

Thou  seest  our  weakness,  Lord  ! 

Our  hearts^are  known  to  Thee  : 
Oh  !  lift  Thou  up  the  sinking  hand, 

Confirm  the  feeble  knee. 

Let  us,  in  life,  in  death. 

Thy  steadfast  Truth  declare, 
And  publish  with  our  latest  breath, 

Thy  Love  and  guardian  care. 

Paul  Gerhardt.     (1656.) 
Tr.  by  JOHN  Wesley.     (1739.) 

This  was  sung  by  Queen  Louise  of  Prussia,  5th  December 
1806,  when,  in  the  dark  days  under  Napoleon,  she  and  her 
children  had  taken  refuge  at  Ortelsburg. 

"Truly  a.  hymn  which  is  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  wit- 
nesses."— Lauxmann. 


112 


^ ^ 

nvrOTHING   fair  on  earth  I  see 
±y        But  I  straightway  think  of  Thee  ; 
Thou  art  fairest  in  mine  eyes^ 
Source  in  whom  all  beauty  lies. 

On  Thy  light  I  think  at  morn 
With  the  earliest  break  of  dawn^ 

Think  what  glories  lie  in  Thee, 
Light  of  all  Eternity. 

When  I  watch  the  moon  arise 

'Mid  heaven's  thousand  glorious  eyes, 

Then  I  think  more  glorious  far 
Is  the  Maker  of  yon  star. 

Or  I  cry  in  Spring's  sweet  hours 

When  the  fields  are  gay  with  flowers, 

As  their  varied  hues  I  see, 
What  must  their  Creator  be  ! 

When  along  the  brook  I  wander. 

Or  beside  the  fountain  ponder, 
Straight  my  thoughts  take  wing  and  mount 

Up  to  Thee,  the  purest  Fount. 

Take  away  then  what  could  blind 

Unto  Thee  my  soul  and  mind  ; 
Henceforth  ever  let  my  heart 

See  Thee,  Saviour,  as  Thou  art ! 

Angelus  Silesius.     (16.57.) 
Tr.  by  Miss  WlNKWORTU.     (1855.) 


13 


^ 


qi ^ — >^ 


1 

/"^OMETH  sunshine  after  rain, 
After  mourning  joy  again, 
After  heavy  bitter  grief 
Dawneth  surely  sweet  relief! 
And  my  Soul,  who  from  her  height 
Sank  to  realms  of  woe  and  night, 
Winsreth  now  to  Heaven  her  fliiijht. 


2 

Though  to-day  may  not  fulfil 
All  the  hopes,  have  patience  still 
For  perchance  to-morrow's  sun 
Sees  thy  happier  days  begun  ; 
As  God  willeth  march  the  hours. 
Bringing  joy  at  last  in  showers. 
When  Avhate'er  we  asked  is  ours. 


>b- 


114 


* >B 


Every  sorrow,  every  smart 
That  the  Eternal  Father's  heart 
Hath  appointed  me  of  yore, 
Or  hath  yet  for  me  in  store, 
As  my  life  flows  on  I'll  take 
Calmly,  gladly  for  His  sake. 
No  more  faithless  murmurs  make. 


I  will  meet  distress  and  pain, 

I  will  greet  e'en  death's  dark  reign, 

I  will  lay  me  in  the  grave 

With  a  heart  still  glad  and  brave ; 

Whom  the  strongest  doth  defend. 

Whom  the  Highest  counts  His  friend, 

Cannot  perish  in  the  end. 

Paul  Geriiardt.     (IO'oJ).  ) 

Tr.  by  C.  Winkworth.     (1855.) 


Gerhardt  was  Archdeacon  at  Liibbcn,  and  ranks  next  to 
Luther  as  the  most  gifted  amongst  the  hymnists  of  Germany. 


* 

115 


^ ->^ 

A  LAS  !  that  I  not  earlier  knew  Thee, 


i^ 


Whom  no  man  ever  fully  knows 


That  I  not  earlier  clave  unto  Thee, 
Thou  highest  bliss  and  true  repose  ! 

0  how  my  heart  with  sorrow  burns 
That  it  so  late  to  love  Thee  learns  ! 

1  went  astray  in  passion's  mazes, 
I  sought  but  found  Thee  not — my  sight 

Was  dazed  with  earthly  glories'  blazes. 

Enamoured  of  created  light. 
But  now  at  length — all  praise  to  Thee ! 
Through  faith  Thy  beauteous  Face  I  see. 

True  Sun,  I  thank  Thee  that  hast  given 
The  glorious  light  of  truth  to  me, 

I  thank  Thee,  holy  joy  of  Heaven, 

That  Thou  hast  made  me  glad  and  free. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Thou  Power  Divine, 

That  kindlest  this  new  life  of  mine  ! 

This  hymn  was  suggested  by  a  touching  passage  in  St. 
Augustine's  Confessions,  "  Too  late  have  I  come  to  Thee." 

JOHANN    ScHEFFLER. 

(Called  Angelus  Silesius.      1624  to  l677.) 

The  author  takes  a  very  high  rank  in  hymnody.  He  was 
a  poet  perfect  in  style  and  rhythm,  and  with  deep  reverential 
feeling.  Seventy-nine  of  his  hymns  are  in  the  Lutheran 
books ;  after  he  joined  the  Koman  Church  he  added  many 
more,  and  is  looked  upon  as  the  best  hymnist  of  that  Church 
since  the  Reformation. 

^- ■ ^ 

116 


RESURRECTION 

II /TY  life's  a  shade,  my  days 
■^-'-      Apace  to  death  decline  ; 
My  Lord  is  Life,  He'll  raise 
My  dust  again  !  even  mine. 

My  peaceful  grave  shall  keep 
My  bones  till  that  great  day  ; 

I  wake  from  my  long  sleep 
And  leave  my  bed  of  clay. 

My  Lord  His  angels  shall 

Their  golden  trumpets  sound. 

At  whose  most  welcome  call 
My  grave  shall  be  unbound. 

I  said  sometimes  with  tears, 

"Ah  me  !  I  am  loth  to  die." 
Lord,  silence  Thou  these  fears  : 

My  life's  with  Thee  on  high. 

What  means  my  trembling  heart 

To  be  thus  shy  of  death  ? 
My  life  and  I  ne'er  part 

Though  I  resign  my  breath. 

Then  welcome,  harmless  grave  ! 

By  thee  to  heaven  I'll  go ; 
My  Lord  His  death  shall  save 
Me  from  the  flames  below. 
Sweet  truth  to  me  ! 
I  shall  arise 
And  with  these  eyes 
My  Saviour  see. 

Dr.  Samuel  Grossman. 

(Dean  of  Bristol.     1 664.) 

>B >B 

117 


-* 


THE   MORNING    HYMN 

AWAKE,  my  soul,  and  with  the  Sun 
-^^^     Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run  ; 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Redeem  thy  mis-spent  time  that's  past. 
And  live  this  day  as  if  the  last ; 
Improve  thy  talent  with  due  care  ; 
For  the  great  Day  thyself  prepare. 

Let  all  thy  converse  be  sincere, 
Thy  conscience  as  the  noonday  clear ; 
Think  how  all-seeing  God  thy  ways 
And  all  thy  secret  thoughts  surveys. 

Wake  and  lift  up  thyself,  my  heart. 
And  with  the  angels  bear  thy  part ; 
Who  all  night  long  unwearied  sing 
High  praise  to  our  Eternal  King. 

By  influence  of  the  Light  Divine 
Let  thy  own  light  to  others  shine  ; 
Reflect  all  Heaven's  propitious  rays 
In  ardent  love  and  cheerful  praise. 


^ — * 

118 


^ >^ 


I  wake  !  I  wake  !  ye  heavenly  choir. 
May  your  devotion  me  inspire, 
That  I  like  you  my  age  may  spend. 
Like  you  may  on  my  God  attend ! 

Lord,  I  to  Thee  my  vows  renew ; 
Disperse  my  sins  as  morning  dew  ; 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thought  and  will. 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Direct,  control,  suggest  this  day 

All  I  design  to  do  or  say. 

That  all  my  powers,  with  all  their  might. 

To  Thy  sole  glory  may  unite. 

Praise  God  from  Whom  all  blessinscs  flow : 
Praise  Him  all  creatures  here  below ; 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  Heavenly  Host ; 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

Bishop  Ken. 


This  hymn,  and  also  the  Evening  and  Midnight  Hymns, 
were  written  at  Winchester  before  1G74,  and  afterwards  in- 
cluded in  the  "  Manual  for  the  Scholars." 

See  Appendix,  pp.  269  and  270. 


111) 


qi ^ 


THE    EVENING    HYMN 

A  LL  praise  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light ; 
Keep  me,  oh,  keep  me,  King  of  Kings, 
Beneath  Thine  own  Almighty  Wings. 


Forgive  me.  Lord,  for  Thy  dear  Son 
The  ill  that  I  this  day  have  done  ; 

That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  Thee, 
I,  ere  I  slee23,  at  peace  may  be. 


Teach  me  to  live,  that  I  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  my  bed  ! 

Teach  me  to  die,  that  so  I  may 
Rise  glorious  at  the  awful  day. 


Oh  !  may  my  soul  on  Thee  repose. 

And  may  sweet  sleep  mine  eyelids  close 

Sleep  that  shall  me  more  vigorous  make 
To  serve  my  God  when  I  aw^ake. 


120 


* ^ 


When  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie, 

My  soul  with  heavenly  thoughts  supply. 

Let  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest, 
Nor  powers  of  darkness  me  molest. 


Dull  sleep,  of  sense  me  to  deprive  ! 

I  am  but  half  my  time  alive  : 
Thy  faithful  lovers,  Lord,  are  grieved 

To  be  so  long  of  Thee  bereaved. 


Praise  God  from  Whom  all  blessings  flow ; 

Praise  Him  all  creatures  here  below ; 
Praise  Him  above,  angelic  Host ; 

Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

Bishop  Ken.     (1674.) 


The  doxology  has  been  universally  adopted.  It  was  an 
original  composition  of  Ken's,  and  in  no  sense  a  translation 
from  those  in  Latin,  already  familiar  to  the  Church. 


121 


►^ ■ ► 

MIDNIGHT    HYMN 

MY  GOD,  now  I  from  sleep  awake 
The  sole  possession  of  me  take ; 
From  midnight  terrors  me  secure 
And  guard  my  heart  from  thoughts  impure  ! 

Bless'd  angels  while  we  silent  lie 
Their  hallelujahs  sing  on  high  ; 
And  joyful  hymn  the  Ever-blest 
Before  the  Throne  and  never  rest. 

I  with  your  choir  celestial  join 
In  offering  up  a  hymn  divine  ; 
With  you  in  heaven  I  hope  to  dwell 
And  bid  the  night  and  world  farewell. 

O  may  I  always  ready  stand 
With  my  lamp  burning  in  my  hand  : 
May  I  in  sight  of  Heaven  rejoice 
Whene'er  I  hear  the  Bridegroom's  Voice. 

O  Saviour,  Thou  on  Heaven  intent. 
Whole  nights  hast  in  devotion  spent ! 
But  I,  frail  creature,  soon  am  tired 
And  all  my  zeal  is  soon  expired. 

Lord,  lest  the  tempter  me  surprise, 
Watch  over  Thine  own  sacrifice  ! 
All  loose,  all  idle  thoughts  cast  out 
And  make  my  very  dreams  devout ! 

Bishop  Ken.     (1()74.) 

It  was  in  this  year  that  the  Manual  was  first  pubHshed, 
but  the  hymns  had  been  in  constant  use  by  the  scholars  of 
Winchester,  for  some  time  before. 

^ tj< 

122 


>^ ^ 


THE    PASSING   SOUL 

1 
4  ND   now,  at  last,  the  hour  is  coine 

That  I  have  longed  for  many  a  time, 
When  God  with  joy  shall  call  me  home. 

From  this  strange  land,  this  wintry  clime. 
Thy  victim.  Death,  escapes  no  more. 

The  hour  draws  on  when  I  shall  be 
Where  life's  long  battle  shall  be  o'er. 
With  all  the  bonds  of  earth  set  free. 


2 
It  lacketh  now  a  few  short  hours. 

And  I  am  in  Eternity. 
The  wreath  of  fadeless  heavenly  flowers 

Is  twined  already  there  for  me  ; 
The  crown  is  waiting  for  me  there 

Until  the  fight  is  wholly  fought. 
And  all  my  soul  is  thither  caught 

Where  shining  Palms  the  conquerors  bear, 


123 


^ >^ 


But  when  that  morning  shall  appear. 

When  our  great  Judge,  the  Son  of  God, 
Shall  give  to  those  who  loved  Him  here 

Their  gracious,  undeserved  reward, 
Then  in  the  glorious  halls  above, 

I  too  among  that  host  shall  stand 
And  take  from  His  all-faithful  Hand 

The  Crown  of  Righteousness,  of  love. 

4 
Nor  shall  I  yonder  stand  alone, 

I  see  that  crowned  host  appear, 
The  mighty  host  before  His  Throne 

Who  shine  for  ever  pure  and  clear ; 
The  souls  of  those  who  on  their  way 

Still  hour  by  hour  were  longing  here, 
With  burning  love  and  many  a  tear. 

To  see  the  glories  of  His  Day. 

Dr.  P.  J.  Spener.     (1674.) 

A  Court  Chaplain  who  greatly  moulded  the  religious  life 
of  his  time.     His  hymns  are  nine  in  number. 


>^ ■ ^ 

124 


THE   EVERLASTING   REST 

IORD,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care 
^      Whether  I  die  or  live  ; 
To  love  and  serve  Thee  is  my  share, 
And  this  Thy  grace  must  give. 

If  life  be  long,  oh  make  me  glad 

The  longer  to  obey  ; 
If  short — ^no  labourer  is  sad 

To  end  his  toilsome  day. 

Christ  leads  me  through  no  darker  rooms 
Than  He  went  through  before. 

He  that  unto  God's  Kingdom  comes 
Must  enter  by  this  door. 

Come,  Lord,  when  grace  hath  made  me  meet 

Thy  blessed  Face  to  see  ; 
For  if  Thy  work  on  earth  be  sweet, 

\\^hat  will  Thy  glory  be  ! 

My  knowledge  of  that  life  is  small. 

The  eye  of  faith  is  dim  ;   . 
But  'tis  enough  that  Christ  knows  all 

And  I  shall  be  with  Him. 

Rev.   Richard  Baxter.     (16S1.) 

When  Chaplain  to  Charles  II.  Baxter  refused  the  Bishopric 
of  Hereford,  and  after  the  death  of  the  King  joined  the 
Nonconformists. 

"  I  have  made  a  psalm  of  praise  in  the  holy  assembly  the 
chief  delightful  exercise  of  my  religion  and  my  life,  and  have 
helped  to  bear  down  all  the  objections  which  I  have  heard 
against  church  music,  and  against  the  Psalms." — Richard 
Baxter. 


125 


>B ^ 


THE   LORKS   DAY 

T3LEST  Day  of  God^  most  calm,  most  bright, 

The  first  and  best  of  days  ; 
The  labourer's  rest,  the  saint's  delight, 
A  day  of  joy  and  praise. 

My  Saviour's  Face  did  make  thee  shine. 

His  rising  did  thee  raise ; 
This  made  thee  heavenly  and  divine 

Beyond  the  common  days. 

The  first  fruits  do  a  blessing  prove 

Of  all  the  sheaves  behind  ; 
So  they  who  do  the  Sabbath  love 

A  happy  week  shall  find. 

This  holy  day  doth  saints  enrich 

And  smiles  upon  them  all ; 
It  is  their  Pentecost  on  which 

The  Holy  Ghost  doth  fall. 

Rev.  John  Mason.     (1683.) 

This  writer's  hymns  are  amongst  the  earliest  that  came 
into  use  in  the  Church  of  England. 


126 


-^ 

SUNDAY 

II /TY  LORD,  my  God,  was  crucified, 
^  ^      He  all  the  pains  did  bear, 
But  in  the  stillness  of  His  rest 

He  makes  His  servants  share. 
How  calmly  rest  Thy  saints  above 

Which  in  Thy  bosom  lie  : 
The  Church  below  doth  rest  in  hope 

Of  that  felicity. 

Thou,  Lord,  dost  daily  feed  Thy  sheep. 

Dost  make  a  weekly  feast ; 
Thy  flocks  meet  in  their  several  folds 

Upon  this  day  of  rest  : 
Welcome  and  dear  unto  my  soul 

Are  these  sweet  feasts  of  love. 
But  what  a  Sabbath  shall  I  keep 

When  I  shall  rest  above  ! 

I  bless  Thy  wise  and  wondrous  love 

Which  binds  us  to  be  free  ; 
WHiich  makes  us  leave  our  earthly  snares 

That  we  may  come  to  Thee. 
I  come,  I  wait,  I  hear,  I  pray, 

Thy  footsteps.  Lord,  I  trace. 
I  sino'  to  think  this  is  the  way 

Unto  my  Saviour's  Face. 

Rev.  John   Mason.     (1683.) 

127 


>^ ^ 


EASTER    EVE 


"O  EST  of  the  weary  !     Thou 
Thyself  art  resting  now 

Where  lowly  in  Thy  sepulchre  Thou  liest ! 
From  out  her  deathly  sleep 
My  soul  doth  start  to'  weep  ; 

So  sad  a  wonder  that  the  Saviour  diest ! 


Thy  bitter  anguish  o'er. 

To  their  dark  tomb  they  bore 
Thee,  Life  of  Life — Thee,  Lord  of  all  creation  ! 

The  hollow,  rocky  cave 

Must  serve  Thee  for  a  Grave 
Who  wast  Thyself  the  Rock  of  our  Salvation. 

O  Prince  of  Life  !     I  know 

That  when  I  too  lie  low 
Thou  wilt  at  last  my  soul  from  death  awaken ; 

Wherefore  I  will  not  shrink 

From  the  grave's  awful  brink  ; 
The  heart  that  trusts  in  Thee  shall  ne'er  be  shaken. 


128 


^ ^ 

To  me  the  darksome  tomb 

Is  but  a  narrow  room 
Where  I  may  rest  in  peace  from  sorrow  free. 

Thy  death  shall  give  me  power 

To  cry  in  that  dark  hour, 
O  Death,  O  Grave,  where  is  your  victory  ? 

The  grave  can  nought  destroy. 

Only  the  flesh  shall  die. 
And  e'en  the  body  triumphs  o'er  decay : 

Clothed  in  thy  wondrous  might 

In  robes  of  dazzling  light 
This  flesh  shall  burst  the  grave  at  that  last  Day. 

Lord  Jesus,  day  by  day 

Help  me  to  watch  and  pray 
Beside  the  tomb  where  in  my  heart  Thou  art  laid  ; 

Thy  bitter  death  shall  be 

My  constant  memory, 
My  guide  at  last  throughout  death's  awful  shade. 

Salomo  Franck.     (About  1685.) 

A  hymnist  of  much  repute  in  Germany,  where  about  330 
of  his  hymns  are  still  in  common  use  Only  eight  of  these 
have  been  translated  into  English. 

Tr.  by  Miss  C.  Winkworth.     (1855.) 


>i(- 


129 


— >^ 

ALL    SAINTS'    DAY 

TTT^TTI  I  hymns  the  heavenly  courts  are  ringing; 

We,  exiles  from  our  country,  weep 
And  silence  from  glad  singing 
Our  harps  suspended  keep. 

When  shall  the  soul,  her  fetters  burst. 

Be  joined  to  those  assemblies  bright ; 
All  darkness  then  dispersed, 

Her  dwelling  place  Heaven's  light  ? 

Far  off  shall  all  dim  fjincies  flee. 

When  to  light's  glory  brought  more  near. 

Without  a  cloud  we  see  * 

Truth  in  her  Fountain  clear. 

If,  blessed  Saints,  ye  watch  our  pain. 

Still  striving  amid  stormy  waves. 
Pray,  that  safe  port  we  gain 

Through  Christ,  Who  only  saves. 

Praise  to  the  Father,  Source  of  All  I 

The  Son,  Repairer  of  our  Fall! 
And  the  blest  Spirit's  name. 

Who  doth  our  hearts  inflame  ! 

Jean  B.  SanteOil.     (1686.) 
Tr.  by  the  late  LoRD  Selborne. 


130 


* >^ 


THE   MORNING    HOUR 

COME,  my  soul,  thou  must  be  waking 
Now  is  breaking 
O'er  the  earth  another  day  : 
Come  to  Him  who  made  this  splendour  ; 

See  thou  render 
All  thy  feeble  strength  can  pay. 

Gladly  hail  the  light  returning : 

Ready  burning 
Be  the  incense  of  thy  powers  : 
For  the  night  is  safely  ended  ; 

God  hath  tended 
With  His  care  thy  helpless  hours. 

Pray  that  He  may  prosper  ever 

Each  endeavour, 
When  thine  aim  is  good  and  true  ; 
But  that  He  may  ever  thwart  thee 

And  convert  thee, 
When  thou  evil  wouldst  pursue. 


131  -*• 


■* 


May'st  thou  then  on  Hfe's  last  morrow, 

Free  from  sorrow, 
Pass  away  in  slumber  sweet  ; 
And,  released  from  death's  dark  sadness. 

Rise  in  gladness, 
That  far  brighter  Sun  to  "-reet. 


'&■ 


Baron  von  Canitz.     (I690.) 


"His  life,"  wrote  Dr.  Arnold  of  Rugby,  "had  been  distin- 
guished alike  by  genius  and  worldly  distinctions,  as  well  as 
by  Christian  holiness  :  who,  as  the  dawn  broke  into  his  sick 
chamber  on  the  last  morning  of  his  life,  prayed  that  he  might 
be  supported  to  the  window  to  look  once  more  upon  the  Sun. 
•  Oh  !  if  the  earthly  and  created,'  he  said,  'is  so  beautiful 
and  quickening,  what  will  be  the  sight  of  the  unspeakable 
glory  of  the  Creator  Himself  ? '  That  effort  was  his  last. 
He  died  that  same  day,  August  11,  1699." 


^ !i^ 

132  * 


^ ->^ 


SANCTUS 

/^  HOLY,  holy,  holy  Lord  ! 
^-^       In  deep  abasement  we 
To  sing  Thy  holiness  accord. 
And  join  in  praise  to  Thee. 

Holy  art  Thou  in  all  Thy  ways ; 

Thy  works  are  holy  too  ; 
And  none  but  those  shall  see  Thy  Face 

That  holiness  pursue. 

Thy  holiness  immensely  bright 

Through  worlds  unknown  must  shine  ; 

The  rays  too  strong  for  angels'  sight, 
Too  glorious  and  divine  ! 

But  round  Thy  Throne  this  sacred  throng 

For  ever  veiled  adore, 
And  holy,  holy,  is  their  song, 

Lord  God,  for  evermore  ! 


Dryden.     (1690.) 


133 


^ '■ — ^ 


A  S  pants  the  hart  for  cooling  streams 
^^-^     When  heated  in  the  chase. 
So  longs  my  soul,  O  God,  for  Thee 

And  Thy  refreshing  grace. 

For  Thee,  my  God,  the  living  God, 

My  thirsty  soul  doth  pine  ; 
Oh,  when  shall  I  behold  Thy  Face, 

Thou  Majesty  Divine  ? 

I  sigh  to  think  of  happier  days 
When  I'hou,  O  Lord,  wert  nigh  ; 

When  every  heart  was  tuned  to  praise 
And  none  more  blest  than  I. 

Why  restless,  why  cast  down,  my  soul  ? 

Hope  still,  and  thou  shalt  sing 
The  praise  of  Him  who  is  Thy  God, 

Thy  health's  eternal  spring. 

Tate  and  Brady.     (I696.) 
Alt.  by  Rev.  H.  F.  Lyte.     (1854.) 

This  hymn  has  been  included  in  the  modern  Roman 
Catholic  Hymnary,  as  well  as  "  When  I  survey  the  wondrous 
Cross,"  by  Dr.  Watts. 


* n. * 


^ ^ 


AT  THE    CROSS 

1%  T  Y   Guardian,  own  me  Thine  ; 

My  Shepherd, — bear  me  home  ; 
O  fount  of  mercy,  source  divine. 
From  Thee  what  blessings  come ! 

Grant  me  as  true  a  faith 

As  Thou  art  true  to  me, 
That  so  the  icy  sleep  of  death 

Be  but  a  rest  in  Thee. 

Come  to  me  ere  I  die, 

My  comfort  and  my  shield ; 

And,  gazing  on  Thy  Cross,  can  I 
Calmly  my  spirit  yield. 

On  Thee  when  life  is  past 

My  darkening  eyes  shall  dwell, 

My  heart  in  faith  shall  hold  Thee  fast 
Who  dieth  thus,  dies  well. 


From  Lyra  Gcrmanica. 


^ ->J< 

135 


^ ^ 


HYMNS    OF 
THE    EIGHTEENTH    CENTURY 


* * 

137 


>i<- 


EPIPHANY 

IS  thy  heart  athirst  to  know 
That  thevKing  of  heaven  and  earth 
Deigns  to  dwell  with  man  below, 

Yea,  hath  stooped  to  mortal  birth  ? 
Search  the  World  with  ceaseless  care. 
Till  thou  find  this  treasure  there. 

With  the  sages  from  afar 

Journey  on  o'er  sea  and  land, 

Till  thou  see  the  Morning  Star 

O'er  thy  heart  unchanging  stand  ; 

Then  shalt  thou  behold  His  Face, 

Full  of  mercy,  truth  and  grace. 

For  if  Christ  be  born  within, 
Soon  that  likeness  shall  appear. 

Which  the  heart  had  lost  through  sin, 
God's  own  image  fair  and  clear  ; 

And  the  soul  serene  and  bright 

Mirrors  back  His  heavenly  light. 


139 


u< ^ 


Jesus,  let  me  seek  for  nought 

But  that  Thou  shouldst  dwell  in  me ; 

Let  this  only  fill  my  thought^ 
How  I  may  grow  liker  Thee, — 

Winning,  Lord,  Thy  blessings  rife 

Through  the  calm,  eternal  Life. 

With  the  wise  who  know  Thee  right, 
Though  the  world  accounts  them  fools, 

I  will  praise  Thee  day  and  night, 
I  will  order  by  Thy  rules 

All  my  life,  that  it  may  be 

Filled  with  praise  and  love  of  Thee. 

Laurentius  Laurenti. 
(About  A.D.  1700.) 

Tr.  by  Miss  C.  Winkwoeth.     (1858.) 


140 


^ ■ ^ 

THE   PILGRIM'S    HYMN 

X  KNOW  that  my  Redeemer  liveth. 

And  as  He  lives,  His  life  is  mine  : 
Were  death  before  my  eyes,  He  giveth 

Relief  from  fear  by  grace  divine. 
And  since  my  Saviour  now  is  risen, 
Death's  bands  can  me  no  more  imprison. 

Oh  !  when  will  come  those  hours  of  sweetness  ; 

Oh  !  when  will  come  the  beauteous  time. 
When,  burdens  gone,  I  having  meetness. 

Shall  reach  the  calm,  untroubled  clime  ? 
'Mid  heavenly  pastures  grace  unfolding. 
My  own  dear  Saviour  there  beholding. 

My  Lord,  when  wilt  Thou  hear  this  groaning, 
When  to  Thy  joy  receive  Thy  child  ? 

When  comes  the  day  of  public  owning. 
Crowning  those  brows  by  shame  defiled  ? 

Salvation  come  and  joy  abounding. 

Thy  praise  all  heaven  will  be  resounding. 

Erdmann  Neumeister.     (1700.) 
Tr.  by  Rev.  W.  Rkiu,  M.A..     (1872.) 


^- 


141 


^ ■- * 


By  Thine  unknown  sufferings,  Good  Lord  deliver  us. 
{From  the  Greek  Litany.) 


TTTHEN  I  survey  the  wondrous  Cross 

On  which  tlie  Prince  of  glory  died, 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss 

And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

Forbid  it,  Lord,  that  I  should  boast 
Save  in  the  Death  of  Christ  my  God  : 

All  the  vain  things  that  charm  me  most 
I  sacrifice  them  to  His  Blood. 

See  from  His  Head,  His  Hands,  His  Feet, 
Sorrow  and  Love  flow  mingled  down  ! 

Did  e'er  such  Love  and  Sorrow  meet 
Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown  ? 


U2 


*- 


His  dying  crimson,  like  a  robe. 

Spreads  o'er  His  Body  on  the  Tree : 

Then  am  I  dead  to  all  the  globe 
And  all  the  globe  is  dead  to  me. 

Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  an  offering  far  too  small  : 

Love  so  amazing,  so  divine. 

Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all. 


This  hymn,  which  has  been  called  "the  masterpiece  of 
impassioned  contemplation,"  is  one  of  the  four  that  have  the 
most  universal  acceptance,  and  are  the  most  widely  used,  in 
the  English  language. 

It  is  here  given  as  originally  written  by  Dr.  Watts  in 
1707. 

During  150  years  it  became  so  much  altered  by  compilers, 
especially  in  nine  different  hymnals  which  had  appeared, 
that  in  186G  the  late  Lord  Selborne  in  his  "  English  Church 
Hymnody"  said,  referring  to  these  alterations,  that  "there 
was  just  enough  of  Watts  left  to  remind  one  of  the  saying  of 
Horace,  that  you  may  know  the  remains  of  a  poet  even  when 
he  is  torn  in  pieces." 


^ 5 . )^. 

143 


>^ ^ 


A    CHILD    PILGRIM 

XTTOULDST  be  happy,  little  child  ? 

^  ^     Be  thou  innocent  and  mild  ; 
Like  the  patient  lamb  and  dove. 
Full  of  sweetness,  full  of  love. 
Modestly  thy  looks  compose. 
Sweet  and  blushing  like  the  rose. 

When  in  gardens  thou  dost  play. 
In  the  pleasant  flowery  May, 
And  art  driven  by  sudden  showers, 
From  the  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers; 
Think,  how  -short  that  pleasure  is 
Which  the  world  esteemeth  bliss. 

When  the  fruits  are  sour  and  green. 
Come  not  near  them,  be  not  seen 
Touching,  tasting,  till  the  Sun 
His  sweet  ripening  work  hath  done. 
Think,  how  harsh  thy  nature  is 
Till  Heaven  ripen  thee  for  bliss. 


144 


^- 


■1^ 


Or  lest  thou  should 'st  drop  away 
Like  the  leaf  that  fell  to-day  ; 
Still  be  ready  to  depart, 
Love  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart ; 
Then  thou  wilt  ascend  on  high 
From  Time  to  Eternity. 

Paradise  is  sweeter  there 
Than  the  flowers  and  roses  here  ; 
Here's  a  glimpse,  and  then  away, 
There  'twill  be  for  lasting  day, 
Where  thou  ever  in  Heaven's  spring 
Shalt  with  saints  and  angels  sing. 


Bishop  Hickes.     (1708.) 


The  Nonjuring  Bishop.    Translator  of  Fenelon  for  cliildren, 
and  an  early  writer  of  hymns  for  the  young. 


>i<- 


14.5 


-* 


* * 

WHITSUNTIDE 

COME,  Holy  Spirit,  heavenly  Dove, 
My  sinful  maladies  remove  ; 
Be  Thou  my  Light,  be  Thou  my  Guide, 
O'er  every  thought  and  step  preside. 

The  light  of  Truth  to  me  display. 

That  I  may  know  and  choose  my  way ; 

Plant  holy  fear  within  my  heart, 
That  I  from  God  may  ne'er  depart. 

Conduct  me  safe,  conduct  me  far 
From  every  sin  and  hurtful  snare ; 

Lead  me  to  God,  my  final  Rest, 
In  His  enjoyment  to  be  blest. 

Lead  me  to  Christ,  the  Living  Way, 
Nor  let  me  from  His  pastures  stray  ; 

Lead  me  to  Heaven,  the  seat  of  bliss, 
Where  pleasure  in  perfection  is. 

Lead  me  to  holiness,  the  road 

That  I  must  take  to  dwell  with  God  ; 

Lead  to  Thy  W^ord  that  rules  must  give 
And  sure  directions  how  to  live. 

Thus  I,  conducted  still  by  Thee, 
Of  God  a  child  beloved  shall  be  ; 

Here  to  His  Family  pertain. 

Hereafter  with  Him  ever  reign. 

Simon  Browne.     (1720.) 

Few  hymns  have  been  through  more  changes  than  this. 
Many  texts  are  in  use,  each  differing  more  or  less  from  the 
other.     It  is  given  here  in  the  original  form. 

^ * 

146 


*- >^ 

SONG    OF    REST 

MY  soul  hath  found  the  steadfast  ground, 
There  ever  shall  my  anchor  hold. 
That  ground  is  in  my  Saviour  Christ, 

Before  the  world  was  from  of  old, — 
And  that  sure  ground  shall  be  my  stay 
When  heaven  and  earth  shall  jiass  away. 

That  ground  is  Thine  Eternal  Love, — 
The  love  which  through  all  ages  burns ; 

The  open  arms  of  Mercy  stretched 
To  meet  the  sinner  who  returns  ; 

The  Love  that  calleth  everywhere. 

If  men  will  hear,  or  will  forbear. 

Oh  deep,  deep  sea,  where  all  our  sins 
By  Christ  are  cast  and  found  no  more  ! 

There  is  no  condemnation  now. 

The  Lord  hath  healed  our  deadly  sore. 

Because  the  voice  of  Jesus'  Blood 

Still  cries  for  mercy  unto  God. 

Lord  Christ,  Thou  art  my  steadfast  Rock 

So  long  as  on  the  earth  I  dwell, — 
Oh  may  each  thought  and  word  and  work 

Of  Thy  redeeming  mercy  tell, 
Till  I  shall  sing  to  Thee  above. 
Oh  endless  depth  of  saving  Love. 

JoHANN  Andreas  Rothe.      (1727.) 
Tr.  by  Mrs.  Bevan.     (1858.) 

147 


»±< ^ •*( 

VIA    CRUCIS 


M 


Y  whole  desire 

Doth  deeply  turn  away 
Out  of  all  time^  unto  eternal  day. 
I  give  myself  and  all  I  call  my  own 
To  Christ  for  ever,  to  be  His  alone. 

Now,  O  my  God, 
My  comfort,  portion,  rest ! 
Thou,  none  but  Thou,  shalt  reign  within  my  breast. 
Call  me  to  Thee  !  call  me  Thyself — oh  speak 
And  bind  my  heart  to  Thee,  Whom  most  I  seek  ! 

Then  let  me  dwell 

But  as  a  pilgrim  here  : 
One   to  whom   earth   seems    distant — heaven   more 

near, 
Let  this  my  joy,  my  life,  my  life-work,  be. 
To  die  to  self,  to  live,  my  God,  to  Thee. 

Thou  art  my  King, 
My  King  henceforth  alone  ; 
And  I  Thy  servant.  Lord,  am  all  Thine  own — 
Give  me  Thy  strength  :  oh  let  Thy  dwelling  be 
In  this  poor  heart,  that  pants,  my  Lord,  for  Thee. 

Gerhard  Tersteegen.     (1729.) 
Tr.  hy  A.  Warner.     (1869.) 

148  ^ 


*- — ^ 


HYMN    TO    THE    SAVIOUR 

"r\()  not  I  love  Thee^  O  my  Lord  ? 
-^^^      Behold  my  heart,  and  see  ; 
And  tmn  each  cherished  idol  out 
That  dares  to  rival  Thee. 

Is  not  Thy  Name  melodious  still 

To  mine  attentive  ear  ? 
Doth  not  each  pulse  with  pleasure  bound 

My  Saviour's  Voice  to  hear  ? 

Would  not  mine  ardent  spirit  vie 
With  Angels  round  the  Throne, 

To  execute  Thy  sacred  Will, 
And  make  Thy  glory  known  ? 

Thou  knowest  I  love  Thee,  Holy  Lord, 

And  know  I  long  to  soar 
Far  from  the  sphere  of  mortal  joys, 
^And  learn  to  love  Thee  more. 

Dr.  Doddridge.      (1730.) 


1^ 

149 


^ ^ 


LENT 

XESU,  pityiiig  Saviour,  hear  me, 
^         Draw  Thou  near  me, 
Turn  Thee,  Lord,  in  grace  to  me  ; 
For  Thou  knowest  all  mj  sorrow. 

Night  and  morrow 
Doth  my  cry  go  up  to  Thee, 

Sin  of  courage  hath  bereft  me, 

And  hath  left  me 
Scarce  a  spark  of  faith  or  hope  ; 
Bitter  tears  my  heart  oft  sheddeth 

As  it  dreadeth 
I  am  past  Thy  mercy's  scope. 

Here  I  bring  my  will ;  oh,  take  it. 

Thine,  Lord,  make  it, 
Calm  this  troubled  heart  of  mine  ; 
In  Thy  strength  I  too  may  conquer. 

Wait  no  longer, 
Show  in  me  Thy  grace  Divine. 

Gerhard  Tersteegen.     (1731.) 

Tr.  by  Miss  C.  Wjnkworth.     (1858.) 


150 


r\  THOU,  Who  in  the  Hght  dost  dwell, 
^-^      To  mortals  unapproachable. 
Where  angels  veil  them  from  Thy  rays. 
And  tremble  as  they  gaze. 

While  we  the  depths  of  darkness  bar. 
From  Thy  blest  Presence  set  afar. 
Till  brightness  of  the  eternal  day 
Shall  chase  the  gloom  away. 

Such  day  Thou  hast  in  store  with  Thee, 
Hid  in  Thy  boundless  Majesty, 
Of  which  the  sun  in  glorious  trim 
Is  but  a  shadow  dim. 

Why  lingers  thus  light's  golden  wheel, 
Which  shall  to  us  the  day  reveal  ? 
But  we  must  cast  this  flesh  aside. 
Ere  we  with  Thee  abide. 

But  when  the  soul  shall  take  her  wing 
From  out  her  dark  enveloping. 
To  see  Thee,  praise  Thee,  love  Thee  still. 
Her  urn  within  shall  fill. 

Dread  Three  in  One,  mould  us  and  bless 
In  Thine  o'erflowing  bounteousness 
To  pass  unharmed  through  this  our  night 
And  see  Thine  endless  light. 

C.  Coffin.     (1736.) 

The  Vesper  Hymn,  from  the  Paris  Breviary. 
Coflin  was  Hector  of  tLie  University  of  Paris. 

►i< >^ 

151 


>^- 


-* 


MORNING 

/"CHRIST  Whose  glory  fills  the  skies, 
^^     Christ  the  true,  the  only  Light, 
Sun  of  Righteousness  arise. 

Triumph  o'er  the  shades  of  night ; 
Dayspring  from  on  high  be  near, 
Daystar  in  my  heart  appear ! 

Dark  and  cheerless  is  the  morn 

Unaccompanied  by  Thee  ; 
Joyless  is  the  day's  return, 

Till  Thy  mercy's  beams  I  see  ; 
Lord  !  Thy  inward  light  impart, 
Cheering  my  benighted  heart. 

Visit  then  this  soul  of  mine. 

Pierce  the  gloom  of  sin  and  grief ; 

Fill  me.  Radiancy  Divine, 
Scatter  all  my  unbelief; 

More  and  more  Thyself  display. 

Shining  to  the  perfect  day. 

Charles  Wesley.     (1740.) 

Wherever  the  EngHsh  language  is  spoken,  this  hymn  is  in 
use.  It  has  also  been  translated  into  Latin  by  the  Rev.  R' 
Bingham,  as 

"  Christe,  cujus  glorias." 


*■ 


152 


»i< ^ 

TESU,  Lover  of  my  soul, 

Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  nearer  waters  roll, 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high  : 
Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour,  hide, 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past ; 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide. 

Oh  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none, 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee  ; 
Leave,  ah  !  leave  me  not  alone. 

Still  support  and  comfort  me  : 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed. 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring  ; 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing. 

Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, 

Grace  to  cover  all  my  sin  ; 
Let  the  healing  streams  abound. 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within  : 
Thou  of  life  the  Fountain  art, 

Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee  ; 
Spring  Thou  up  within  my  heart. 

Rise  to  all  eternity. 


^- 


Charles  Wesley.     (174-0.) 


153 


>^ ^ 


VIA   CRUCIS,   VIA   LUCIS 

'VT'OU  now  must  hear  My  voice  no  more. 

The  Father  calls  Me  home  ; 
But  soon  from  Heaven  the  Holy  Ghost 
Your  Comforter  shall  come. 

That  Heavenly  Teacher  sent  from  God, 

Shall  your  whole  soul  inspire  ; 
Your  minds  shall  fill  with  sacred  truth. 

Your  hearts  with  sacred  fire. 

Peace  is  the  gift  I  leave  with  you  ; 

My  peace  to  you  bequeath ; 
Peace  that  shall  comfort  you  through  life. 

And  cheer  your  souls  in  death. 

I  give  not  as  the  world  bestows. 

With  promise  false  and  vain  ; 
Nor  cares,  nor  fears,  shall  wound  the  heart 

In  which  my  words  remain. 

W.  Robertson 
(Of  the  Old  Grey  Friars.      1742). 

From  the  Scottish  Psalter. 


154 


^ — >^ 


QOMETHING  every  heart  is  loving, 
'^     If  not  Jesus,  none  can  rest ; 
Lord,  to  Thee  my  heart  is  given, 
Take  it,  for  it  loves  Thee  best. 


Thus  I  cast  the  world  behind  me, 

Jesus  most  beloved  shall  be. 
Beauteous  more  than  all  things  beauteous. 

He  alone  is  joy  to  me. 

Bright  with  all  eternal  radiance 

Is  the  glory  of  Thy  Face — 
Thou  art  loving,  true,  and  tender. 

Full  of  pity,  full  of  grace. 

Keep  my  heart  still  faithful  to  Thee, 

That  my  earthly  life  may  be 
But  a  shadow  to  that  glory 

Of  my  hidden  life  in  Thee. 

Gerhard  Tersteegen.     (1745.) 
Tr.  by  Mrs.  E.  F.  BE  VAN.     (1858.) 


*- 


153 


>3&- 


*- 


THE   PASCHAL   EVE 

T  ET  not  your  hearts  with  anxious  thoughts 
-^-^     Be  troubled  or  dismayed ; 
But  trust  in  Providence  divine, 
And  trust  My  gracious  aid. 

I  to  My  Father's  house  return  ; 

There  numerous  mansions  stand, 
And  glory  manifold  abounds 

Through  all  the  happy  land. 

I  go  your  entrance  to  secure. 

And  your  abode  prepare  ; 
Regions  unknown  are  safe  to  you. 

When  I,  your  Friend,  am  there. 

Thence  shall  I  come,  when  ages  close. 

To  take  you  home  with  Me ; 
There  we  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 

And  still  together  be. 

I  am  the  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life, 

No  son  of  human  race, 
But  such  as  I  conduct  and  guide. 

Shall  see  My  Father's  Face. 

W.  Robertson 
(Of  Old  Grey  Friars  Church.      1745). 

From  the  Scottish  Psalter. 


156 


)i^ ^ 


FOR   THE    PASSING   SOUL 

TTAPPY  soul !     Thy  days  are  ended, 
^  *       All  thy  mourning  days  below  ; 
Go,  by  Angel  guards  attended. 

To  the  sight  of  Jesus  go  ! 
Waiting  to  receive  thy  spirit, 

Lo  !  the  Saviour  stands  above  ; 
Shows  the  purchase  of  His  merit. 

Reaches  out  the  crown  of  Love  ! 

Struggle  through  thy  latest  passion 

To  th}^  dear  Redeemer's  breast, 
To  His  uttermost  salvation. 

To  His  everlasting  rest ! 
For  the  joy  He  sets  before  thee 

Bear  a  momentary  pain  ; 
Die  to  live  the  life  of  glory. 

Suffer  with  thy  Lord  to  reign  ! 

Charles  Wesley.     (174f).) 


^ ^ 

157 


>i<- 


Tj^TERNAL  SPIRIT!    'twas  Thy  breath 
-^-^     The  oracles  of  truth  inspired. 
And  kings  and  holy  seers  of  old, 

With  strong  prophetic  impulse  fired. 


Filled  with  Thy  great  Almighty  power, 
Their  lips  with  heavenly  science  flowed, 

Tlieir  hands  a  thousand  wonders  wrought. 
Which  bore  the  signature  of  God. 

The  powers  of  earth  and  hell  in  vain 
Against  the  sacred  Word  combine  ; 

Thy  providence  through  every  age 
Securely  guards  the  Book  Divine. 

Thee  its  great  Author,  Source  of  light. 

Thee  its  Preserver  we  adore  ; 
And  humbly  ask  a  ray  from  Thee 

Its  hidden  wonders  to  explore. 

E.  Scott  Williams. 
(About  1750.) 


158 


>B ^ 


EASTER    HYMN 


XESUS  lives  !     No  longer  now 

Can  thy  terrors.  Death,  appal  us. 
Jesus  lives  !  by  this  we  know 

Thou,  O  Grave,  canst  not  enthral  us. 


Jesus  lives  !  henceforth  is  death 

But  the  gate  of  Life  immortal  ; 
This  shall  calm  our  trembling  breath 

When  we  pass  its  gloomy  portal. 

Jesus  lives  !  for  us  He  died  : 

Then,  alone  to  Jesus  living. 
Pure  in  heart  may  we  abide. 

Glory  to  our  Saviour  giving. 

Jesus  lives  !  to  Him  the  Throne 

Far  above  all  })ower  is  given  : 
May  we  go  where  He  is  gone. 

Rest  and  reign  with  Him  in  Heaven. 

Christian  Gellert.     (1757.) 


He  was  Professor  of  Philosophy  at  Leipsic,  and  tutor  to 
Goethe.  Gellert  was  distinguished  by  deep  and  sincere  piety, 
blameless  life,  and  the  constancy  with  which  he  clung  to  the 
services  of  the  Church. 

Tr.  by  F.  E.  Cox.     (1841.) 


159 


A    MORNING    HYMN 

SINCE  I  one  day  from  yonder  sleeping 
Which  is  called  Death  shall  stir  and  rise  ; 
And  free  from  sin  and  pain  and  weeping, 

See  the  ftiir  dawn  upon  the  skies  : 
Then  now,  my  soul,  thyself  awake  ! 
Soon  will  that  last  long  morning  break. 
All  pilgrim  cares  will  be  a  dream, 

0  wondrous  day,  at  thy  first  gleam. 

My  Father,  help  me,  that  no  hour 

Of  all  my  life  accuse  me  then  ! 
Thine  be  my  life — Thine  every  power — 

Thine  Who  hast  raised  me  up  again. 

1  thank  Thee,  Lord  ! — let  every  day 
Bring  me  towards  Thee  a  little  way ; 
Each  joy,  each  grief,  their  work  perform, 
And  bear  me  on  through  sun  and  storm. 

When  my  last  mortal  day  hath  risen. 
And  the  dark  waters  near  me  flow. 

Let  me  look  up  from  this  clay  prison. 
Stretching  my  hands  and  glad  to  go. 

Then  let  Thy  strength  in  me  appear — 

Let  those  around  me  feel  Thee  near ; 

See  Heaven's  own  light  upon  me  shine. 

And  all  the  glory,  Lord,  be  Thine. 

F.  G.   Klopstock.     (1769.) 

Tr.  by  A.  WARNER.     (18(59.) 


-*■  160 


PATERNAL    REST 

(CHRIST  will  o-ather  in  His  own 
,J      To  the  place  where  He  is  gone, 
Where  their  heart  and  treasure  lie. 
Where  our  life  is  hid  on  high. 

Day  by  day  the  voice  saith  "  Come, 
Enter  thine  eternal  home  ;  " 
Asking  not  if  we  can  spare 
This  dear  soul  it  summons  there. 

Had  He  asked  us,  well  we  know 
We  should  cry,  "  Oh  spare  this  blow  !  " 
Yes,  with  streaming  tears  should  pray, 
"  Lord,  we  love  him,  let  him  stay  !  " 

But  the  Lord  doth  nought  amiss. 
And  since  He  hath  ordered  this. 
We  have  nought  to  do  but  still 
Rest  in  silence  on  His  Will. 

Many  a  heart  no  longer  here. 
Ah  !  was  all  too  inly  dear  ; 
Yet,  O  Love,  'tis  Thou  dost  call. 
Thou  wilt  be  o.ur  All  in  all. 

Christian  Gregor. 
(Bishop  at  Berthelsdorf.      1778.) 

Tr.  by  Miss  C.  Winkworth.     (1858.) 

Hymn  for  the  Burial   of  the   Dead  in  universal  use  in 
Southern  Germany. 


161  L* 


1^ * 


HOLY    SCRIPTURE 

ril HE  Spirit  breathes  upon  the  Word, 
^     And  brings  the  truth  to  sight ; 
Precept  and  promises  afford 
A  sanctifying  light. 

A  glory  gilds  the  sacred  page, 

Majestic,  like  the  sun  ; 
It  gives  a  light  to  every  age, 

It  gives,  but  borrows  none. 

The  Hand  that  gave  it  still  supphes 
The  precious  light  and  heat ; 

His  truths  upon  the  nations  rise. 
They  rise,  but  never  set. 

My  soul  rejoices  to  pursue 

The  steps  of  Him  I  love. 
Till  glory  breaks  upon  my  view 

In  brighter  worlds  above. 


'&' 


William  Cowper.     (1779.) 


]62 


■* 


O  ()  M  ETI M  ES  a  light  surprises 
O      The  Christian  while  he  sino-s  ; 
It  is  the  Lord  Who  rises 

With  healing  in  His  Wings  : 
When  comforts  are  declining, 

He  grants  the  soul  again 
A  season  of  clear  shining 

To  cheer  it  after  rain. 

In  holy  contemplation 

We  sweetly  then  pursue 
The  theme  of  God's  salvation, 

And  find  it  ever  new. 
Set  free  from  present  sorrow. 

We  cheerfully  can  say, 
E'en  let  the  unknown  to-morrow 

Bring  with  it  what  it  may. 

It  can  bring  with  it  nothing 

But  He  will  bear  us  through  ; 
^  Who  gives  the  lilies  clothing 

Will  clothe  His  people  too : 
Beneath  the  spreading  heavens 

No  creature  but  is  fed  ; 
And  He  Who  feeds  the  ravens 

Will  give  His  children  bread. 

Though  vine  nor  fig-tree  neither 

Their  wonted  fruit  shall  bear, 
Though  all  the  fields  should  wither. 

Nor  flocks  nor  herds  be  there  : 
Yet  God  the  same  abiding. 

His  praise  shall  tune  my  voice  ; 
For  while  in  Him  confiding, 

I  cannot  but  rejoice. 

'  William  Cowper.     (1779.) 

* ■ ^ — ^»i 

163 


THE   CLOSING   YEAR 

TIME  by  moments  steals  away, 
First  the  hour  and  then  the  day  ; 
Small  the  daily  loss  appears. 
Yet  it  soon  amounts  to  years  ; 
Thus  another  year  is  flown, 
And  is  now  no  more  our  own 
(Though  it  brought  or  promised  good) 
Than  the  years  before  the  flood. 

But  each  year,  let  none  forget, 
Finds  and  leaves  us  deep  in  debt : 
Favours  from  the  Lord  received. 
Sins  that  have  the  Spirit  grieved. 
Marked  by  God's  unerring  hand. 
In  His  book  recording  stand ; 
Who  can  tell  the  vast  amount 
Placed  to  each  of  our  account  ? 

We  have  nothing.  Lord,  to  pay. 
Take,  oh  !  take  our  guilt  away  ; 
Self-condemned  on  Thee  we  call. 
Freely,  Lord,  forgive  us  all. 
If  we  see  another  year. 
May  we  spend  it  in  Thy  fear ; 
All  its  days  devote  to  Thee, 
Living  for  Eternity. 

Rev.  John  Newton, 

(From  1779  to  1807  Rector  of 
St.  Mary  Woolnoth.) 

^ >j^ 

164 


*■ 


SUNDAY    EVENING   SERVICE 

Q<OON  will  the  evening  star  with  silver  ray 
Shed  its  mild  lustre  on  this  sacred  day ; 
Resume  we  then,  ere  sleep  and  silence  reign, 
The  rites  that  Heaven  and  holiness  ordain. 

Still  let  each  sacred  truth  our  thoughts  engage. 
That  shines  revealed  on  inspiration's  page ; 
Nor  those  blest  hours  in  vanity  be  passed. 
Which  all  who  lavish  shall  lament  at  last. 

O  God  and  Saviour  !  in  our  hearts  abide  ! 
Thy  grace  renews  us,  and  Thy  precepts  guide ; 
In  life  our  guardian,  and  in  death  our  friend. 
Glory  supreme  be  Thine,  till  time  shall  end. 

Rev.  W.  Mason, 

(Precentor  of  York,  and  Rector  of 

Aston.     Died  1797.) 


165 


^- 


-* 


DIVINE    SERVICE 


r^  REAT  GOD  of  Love,— attend 
^^  Thy  House  this  day  ; 
Whilst  we  before  Thee  bend. 
Teach  us  to  pray. 


We  meet  this  sacred  morn 
Before  Thy  Throne — 

And  own  Thee,  Mighty  God, 
As  Lord  alone. 


Before  Thy  mercy  seat 

We  humbly  bow. 
And  Christ's  dear  name  repeat. 

Oh  !  bless  us  now. 


*- 


166 


* lf< 


Our  hearts  are  calm  and  stilly 
For  Thou  art  near; 

We  wait  to  know  Thy  will^ 
Thy  voice  to  hear. 


Oh  !  pardon  freely  give 
-*-        Whilst  at  Thy  Throne, 
And  teach  us  how  to  live 
To  Thee  alone. 


And  bless  us  once  at»ain 

o 

Before  we  part. 
And  with  Christ's  precious  love 
Fill  every  heart. 

Old  hymn  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


167 


*- 


* 


TS  it  a  thing  so  small, 
-*-     So  easy  to  comply, 
When  summoned  by  the  sudden  call 
To  get  me  up  and  die  ! 

For  those  who  humbly  keep 
The  faith  by  Christ  bestowed, 

To  die  is  but  to  fall  asleep 
In  the  strong  Arms  of  God. 

O  could  1  thus  sink  down 

To  everlasting  rest. 
Without  a  lingering  sigh  or  groan. 

On  my  Redeemer's  Breast ! 

Jesu,  Thy  Blood  apply ; 

Thy  mind  and  spirit  give  ; 
Then  shall  I  get  me  up  and  die ; 

Then  shall  I  truly  live. 

Author  unknown. 


6H 


}^ —^ 


HOLY    SCRIPTURE 
Old  Hymn 

"T TTHO  has  this  Book,  and  reads  it  not, 

*  '      Doth  God  Himself  despise  ; 
Who  reads,  but  understandeth  not, 
His  soul  in  darkness  lies. 

Who  understands,  but  savours  not. 

He  finds  no  rest  in  trouble  ; 
Who  savours  but  obeyeth  not. 

He  hath  his  judgment  double  ! 

Who  reads  this  Book — Who  understands 

Doth  savour  and  obey. 
His  soul  shall  stand  at  God's  rijrht  Hand 


&' 


On  the  great  Judgment  Day. 
Author  and  date  uukuown. 


169 


qi ^ 


HYMNS  OF 
THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


171 


-* 


THE   VALE   OF   REST 

THERE  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found  ; 
They  softly  lie,  and  sweetly  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground. 

The  storm  that  wrecks  the  winter  sky 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose. 
Than  summer  evening's  latest  sigh 
That  shuts  the  rose. 

Thou  traveller  in  the  vale  of  tears  ! 

To  realms  of  everlasting  light. 
Through  time's  dark  wilderness  of  years. 
Pursue  thy  flight. 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 

A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found  ; 
And  while  the  mouldering  ashes  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground  ; 

The  soul  of  origin  divine, 

God's  glorious  image,  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  shall  shine, 
A  star  of  day. 

The  sun  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 

A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky ; 
The  soul  immortal  as  its  Sire, 
Shall  never  die. 

Montgomery.     (1804.) 

q< >^ 

173 


*- 


WHITSUNTIDE 

O  PIRIT  OF  TRUTH  !   on  this  Thy  Day 
^     To  Thee  for  help  we  cry, 
To  guide  us  through  the  dreary  way 
Of  dark  mortahty. 

We  ask  not,  Lord  !  Thy  cloven  flame. 

Or  tongues  of  various  tone  ; 
But  long  Thy  praises  to  proclaim 

With  fervour  in  our  own. 

We  mourn  not  that  prophetic  skill 

Is  found  on  earth  no  more  : 
Enough  for  us  to  trace  Thy  will 

In  Scripture's  sacred  lore. 

No  heavenly  harpings  soothe  our  ear. 

No  mystic  dreams  we  share  ; 
Yet  hope  to  feel  Thy  comfort  near, 

And  bless  Thee  in  our  prayer. 

When  tongues  shall  cease,  and  power  decay. 

And  knowledge  empty  prove. 
Do  thou  Thy  trembling  servants  stay 

With  Faith,  with  Hope,  with  Love  ! 

*  Bishop  Heber.      (181 6".) 


ij<- ^ 

174 


*- 


THE    PILGRIM^S  SONG 

/^H,  where  shall  rest  be  found  ? 
^^     Rest  for  the  weary  soul  ? 
'Twere  vain  the  ocean  depths  to  sound. 
Or  pierce  to  either  pole  : 

The  world  can  never  give 

The  bliss  for  which  we  sigh  ; 
'Tis  not  the  whole  of  life  to  live, 
Nor  all  of  death  to  die. 

Beyond  this  vale  of  tears 

There  is  a  life  above. 
Unmeasured  by  the  flight  of  years. 
And  all  that  life  is  love. 

There  is  a  death  whose  pang 

Outlasts  the  fleeting  breath  ; 
Oh,  what  eternal  horrors  hang 
Around  that  second  death  ! 

Lord  God  of  truth  and  grace. 

Teach  us  that  death  to  shun. 
Lest  we  be  banished  from  Thy  Face, 
And  evermore  undone  : 

Here  would  we  end  our  quest ; 

Alone  are  found  in  Thee 
The  life  of  perfect  love — the  rest 
Of  immortality. 

Montgomery.     (ISI9.) 
175 


-* 


BURIAL    OF   THE    DEAD 


"PENEATH    our  feet  and  o'er  our  head 
"^      Is  equal  warning  given  ; 
Beneath  us  He  the  countless  dead. 
Above  us  is  the  Heaven  ! 


Their  names  are  graven  on  the  stone, 
Their  bones  are  in  the  clay, 

And,  ere  another  day  is  gone, 
Ourselves  may  be  as  they. 

Death  rides  on  every  passing  breeze, 
And  lurks  in  every  flower : 

Each  season  has  its  own  disease, 
Its  peril  every  hour  ! 

Turn,  mortal,  turn  !  thy  danger  know. 
Where'er  thy  foot  can  tread. 

The  earth  rings  hollow  from  below. 
And  warns  thee  of  her  dead  ! 

Turn,  Christian,  turn  !  thy  soul  apply 

To  truths  divinely  given  ; 
The  bones  which  underneath  thee  lie 

Shall  live  for  hell  or  heaven  ! 


Bishop  Heber.     (1820.) 


176 


*■ 


* 


FUNKRAL    HYMN    OF   THE   PEASANTS 
IN   THE    BLACK   FOREST 


'&^ 


I^EIGHBOURS,  accept  our  parting  son^ 
-^^       The  road  is  short,  the  rest  is  long : 
The  Lord  brought  here,  the  Lord  takes  hence, 
This  is  no  home  of  permanence. 

The  bread  by  turns  of  mirth  and  tears. 
Was  thine  these  chequered  pilgrim  years  ; 
Now,  Landlord  world,  shut  to  the  door. 
Thy  guest  is  gone  for  evermore. 

Gone  to  a  realm  of  deep  repose. 
His  comrades  follow  as  he  goes  ; 
Of  toil  and  moil  the  day  was  fidl, 
A  good  sleep  now — the  night  is  cool. 

Ye  village  bells  ring  softly,  ring, 
And  in  the  blessed  Sabbath  bring 
Which  from  the  weary  work-day  tryst 
Awaits  God's  folk  through  Jesus  Christ. 

And  open  wide  thou  gate  of  peace 

And  let  this  other  journey  cease. 

Nor  grudge  a  narrow  couch,  dear  neighbours. 

For  slumbers  won  by  life-long  labours. 

Christian  F.  Saciise.     (1822.) 
Tr.  hy  Dr.  HAMILTON  in  1860,  and  sung  at  his  funeral  in  1867. 


177  M 


"THE   PLACE   OF  PEACE ^' 

(Another  Translation) 

/~^OME,  tread  once  more  the  path  with  song, 

The  way  is  short,  the  rest  is  long ; 
The  Lord  hath  given,  He  calls  away ; 
This  home  was  for  a  passing  day. 

Here  in  an  inn  a  stranger  dwelt. 
Here  joy  and  grief  by  turns  he  felt ; 
Poor  dwelling,  now  we  close  thy  door. 
The  sojourner  returns  no  more  ! 

Now  of  a  lasting  home  possessed. 
He  goes  to  seek  a  deeper  rest ; 
Then  open  to  us,  gates  of  peace. 
And  let  the  Pilgrim's  journey  cease  ! 

Now  let  the  solemn  bell  begin. 
It  rings  his  Sabbath  morning  in  : 
The  labourer's  week-day  work  is  done. 
The  rest,  which  Christ  hath  gained,  begun. 

O  Thou  Who  reignest  Lord  alone. 
Thou  wilt  return  and  claim  Thine  own  ! 
Come  quickly.  Lord,  and  let  us  see 
Thy  people  perfected  in  Thee ! 

Christian  F.  Sachse, 
(Court  Chaplain  at  Altenberg.      1822.) 

Tr.  hy  Rev.  R.  Brown-Borthwick. 
178 


*- 


EASTER   SUNDAY   EVENING 

ON  the  first  Christian  Sabbath  Eve, 
When  His  disciples  met, 
O'er  His  lost  fellowship  to  grieve, 
Nor  knew  the  Scriptures  yet, 

Lo,  in  their  midst  His  Form  was  seen. 

The  Form  in  which  He  died. 
Their  Master's  marred  and  wounded  mien. 

His  Hands,  His  Feet,  His  Side. 

Then  were  they  glad  their  Lord  to  know. 
And  worshipped,  yet  with  fear ; 

Jesus,  again  Thy  presence  show, 
Meet  Thy  disciples  here. 

Be  in  our  midst ;  let  faith  rejoice 

Our  risen  Lord  to  view. 
And  make  our  spirits  hear  Thy  voice 

Say,  "  Peace  be  unto  you  ; 

^'To  you.  My  brethren  :  "  O  unfold 

The  Scriptures  to  our  mind  : 
Their  mysteries  let  us  now  behold. 

Their  hidden  treasures  find. 

And  while  with  Thee,  in  social  hours. 
We  commune  through  Thy  Word, 

May  our  hearts  burn,  and  all  our  powers 
Confess  it  is  the  Lord. 

J.   Montgomery.     (1825.) 


179 


^ ^ 

MISERERE 


LORD,  have  mercy  when  we  pray 
Strength  to  seek  a  better  way ; 
When  our  wakeninp;  thous^hts  besin 

o  o  o 

First  to  loathe  our  cherished  sin ; 
When  our  weary  spirits  fail. 
And  our  aching  brows  are  pale, 
When  our  tears  bedew  Thy  word. 
Then,  O  then,  have  mercy,  Lord  ! 

Lord,  have  mercy  when  we  lie 
On  the  restless  bed,  and  sigh  ; 
Sigh  for  death,  yet  fear  it  still. 
From  the  thoughts  of  former  ill ; 
When  the  dim  advancing  gloom 
Tells  us  that  our  hour  is  come  ; 
When  is  loosed  the  silver  cord. 
Then,  O  then,  have  mercy.  Lord  ! 

Lord,  have  mercy  when  we  know 
First  how  vain  this  world  below ! 
When  our  darker  thoughts  oppress, 
Doubts  perj)lex,  and  fears  distress ; 
Wlien  the  earliest  gleam  is  given 
Of  Thy  bright  but  distant  heaven  ; 
Then  Thy  fostering  grace  afford. 
Then,  O  then,  have  mercy.  Lord  ! 

Dean  Milman.     (1827.) 


>B- 


180 


^ ■ ^ 

ri^irlE  Son  of  God  in  doing  good 

Was  fain  to  look  to  Heaven  and  sigh  : 
And  shall  the  heirs  of  sinful  blood 
Seek  joy  unmixed,  in  charity  ? 

He  looked  to  Heaven,  and  sadly  sighed  ; 

What  saw  my  gracious  Saviour  there, 
With  fear  and  anguish  to  divide 

The  joy  of  Heaven-accepted  prayer  ? 

So  o'er  the  bed  where  Lazarus  slept 
He  to  His  Father  groaned  and  wept : 

What  saw  He  mournful  in  that  grave. 
Knowing  Himself  so  strong  to  save  ? 

No  eye  but  His  might  even  bear 

To  gaze  all  down  that  drear  abyss. 
Because  none  ever  saw  so  clear 

The  shore  beyond  of  endless  bliss. 

Lord,  by  Thy  sad  and  earnest  Eye, 

When  Thou  didst  look  to  Heaven  and  sigh. 

Thy  Voice,  that  with  a  word  could  chase 
The  dumb,  deaf  spirit  from  his  place  ; 

For  Thou  hast  sworn  that  every  ear. 
Willing  or  loth,  Thy  trump  shall  hear, 

And  every  tongue  unchained  be 

To  own  no  hope,  no  (jod,  but  Thee. 

Rev.  John  Keble.     (1827.) 
181 


ll/TY  faith  looks  up  to  Thee, 
^     Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 

Saviour  Divine  : 
Now  hear  me  while  I  pray, 
Take  all  my  guilt  away, 
O  let  me  from  this  day 

Be  wholly  Thine  ! 

May  Thy  rich  grace  impart 
Strength  to  my  fainting  heart. 

My  zeal  inspire. 
As  Thou  hast  died  for  me. 
Oh  may  my  love  to  Thee, 
Pure,  warm,  and  changeless  be^ — 

A  living  fire. 

While  life's  dark  maze  I  tread. 
And  griefs  around  me  spread. 

Be  Thou  my  Guide. 
Bid  darkness  turn  to  day. 
Take  sorrow's  tears  away, 
Nor  let  me  ever  stray 

From  Thee  aside. 

When  ends  life's  transient  dream. 
When  death's  cold  sullen  stream 

Shall  o'er  me  roll, 
Blest  Saviour  !  then  in  Love 
Fear  and  distrust  remove  ; 
O  bear  me  safe  above, 

A  ransomed  soul ! 

Dr.  Ray  Palmer.     (1831.) 

^ ^ 

182 


* ^ 


T   KNOW  no  life  divided, 

O  Lord  of  Life,  from  Thee  ; 
In  Tliee  is  life  provided 

For  all  mankind  and  me  : 
I  know  no  death,  O  Jesus, 
Because  I  live  in  Thee  ; 
Thy  death  it  is  which  frees  us 
From  death  eternally. 

If,  while  on  earth  I  wander. 

My  heart  is  light  and  blest. 
Ah,  what  shall  I  be  yonder. 

In  perfect  peace  and  rest  ? 
O  blessed  thought,  in  dying. 

We  go  to  meet  the  Lord, 
Our  hope  on  Him  relying. 

His  Love  our  great  reward. 

C.  J.   P.  Spitta.     (1833.) 
Tr.  by  MasSIE. 

Spitta  was  of  Huguenot  descent,  his  family  name  De 
I'Hopital.  When  only  eight  years  old  this  author  began  to 
write  in  verse.  At  the  close  of  his  University  career  he 
ceased  to  publish  secular  pieces.  "  In  the  manner  in  which 
I  formerly  sang  I  sing,"  he  said,  '•  no  more.  To  the  Lord  I 
now  consecrate  my  life  and  song  ;  His  gifts  I  give  back  to 
Him." 


183 


^ : — qi 


SUNDAY    MORNING 

TTAIL  thou  bright  and  sacred  morn, 
-^^      Risen  with  gladness  in  thy  beams  ! 
Light,  which  not  of  earth  is  born, 

P'rom  thy  dawn  in  glory  streams  : 
Airs  of  Heaven  are  breathed  around, 
And  each  place  is  holy  ground. 

'Blessed  Spirit !  Comforter  ! 

Sent  this  day  from  Christ  on  high  ; 
Lord,  on  me  Thy  gifts  confer, 

Cleanse,  illumine,  sanctify  ! 
All  thine  influence  shed  abroad. 
Lead  me  to  the  truth  of  Gotl. 

Sad  and  weary  were  our  way. 

Fainting  oft  beneath  our  load. 
But  for  thee,  thou  blessed  day. 

Resting-place  on  life's  rough  road  ! 
Here  flow  forth  the  streams  of  grace, 
Strengthened  hence  we  run  our  race. 

Mrs.  Venn  Elliott.     (1833.) 


184 


SUNDAY    EVENING 

r^  REAT  CREATOR  !  Who  this  day 

From  Thy  perfect  work  didst  rest, 
By  the  Souls  that  own  Thy  sway. 

Hallowed  be  its  hours  and  blest ; 
Cares  of  earth  aside  be  thrown, 
This  day  given  to  Heaven  alone. 

Saviour!  Who  this  day  didst  break 

The  dark  prison  of  the  Tomb, 
Bid  my  slumbering  soul  awake, 

Shine  through  all  its  sin  and  gloom  : 
Let  me,  from  my  bonds  set  free. 
Rise  from  sin  and  live  to  Thee. 

Soon,  too  soon,  the  deep  repose 

Of  this  day  of  God  will  cease  ; 
Soon  this  glimpse  of  heaven  will  close. 

Vanish  soon  the  hours  of  peace  ; 
Soon  return  the  toil,  the  strife, 
All  the  weariness  of  life. 

But  the  rest  which  yet  remains 

For  Thy  people,  Lord,  above. 
Knows  nor  change,  nor  fears,  nor  pains. 

Endless  as  their  Saviour's  love  ; 
O  may  every  Sabbath  here 
Bring  us  to  that  rest  more  near. 

Mrs.  Venn  Elliott.     (1833.) 

^— ii< 

185 


>^ * 


HOLY    COMMUNION 

/^  THOL   Who  didst  this  rite  reveal. 

Of  our  blest  faith  the  sign  and  seal. 
To  Thee  in  spirit.  Lord,  we  kneel. 
Met  to  remember  Thee. 

Thou,  faintly  loved  and  feebly  sought, 
Too  oft  forsaken  and  forgot ; 
With  contrite  shame,  with  sorrowing  thought. 
Lord,  we  remember  Thee. 

Thou  in  our  suffering  flesh  hast  dwelt ; 
Guiltless  our  load  of  guilt  has  felt. 
Shall  not  our  hearts  within  us  melt. 
Saviour,  remembering  Thee  ? 

'Twas  Love  untold,  unfathomed  Love, 
Which  brought  Thee  from  Thy  Throne  above  ; 
And  shall  not  love  our  bosoms  move. 
While  we  remember  Thee  .'' 

Thy  dying  Words,  O  Lord,  we  hail, — 
Though  heart  and  flesh  must  faint  and  fail, 
Through  Thee  the  feeblest  shall  prevail. 
Who  live  by  faith  in  Thee. 

Mrs.  Venn  Elliott.     (18.S5.) 

^ >j( 

186 


>ii- 


HOLY    COMMUNION 

X  ORD,  as  Thy  temple's  portals  close 

Behind  the  outward-parting  throng, 
So  shut  my  spirit  in  repose, 

So  bind  it  here^  Thy  flock  among. 
The  fickle  wanderer  else  will  stray 
Back  to  the  world's  wide  parched  way. 

Here  where  Thine  angels  overhead 
Do  warn  the  Tempter's  Powers  away 

And  where  the  bodies  of  the  dead 
For  life  and  resurrection  stay ; 

And  many  a  generation's  prayer 

Hath  perfumed  and  hath  blest  the  air. 

O  lead  my  blindness  by  the  hand. 
Lead  me  to  Thy  familiar  feast. 

Not  here  or  now  to  understand, 
Yet  even  here  and  now  to  taste 

How  the  Eternal  Word  of  Heaven 

On  earth  in  broken  bread  is  given. 


* — ^ »J( 

187 


^ * 


We  who  this  holy  precinct  round 

In  one  adoring  circle  kneel, 
May  we  in  one  intent  be  bound, 

One  serene  devotion  feel  : 
And  grow  around  Thy  sacred  shrine 
Like  tendrils  of  the  deathless  vine. 

We,  who  with  one  blest  food  are  fed. 

Into  one  body  may  we  grow. 
And  one  pure  life,  from  Thee  the  Head, 

Informing  all  the  members  flow  ; 
One  pulse  be  felt  in  every  vein. 
One  law  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 

O  let  the  virtue  all  divine, 

The  gift  of  this  true  Sabbath  morn, 
Stored  in  my  spirit's  inner  shrine. 

Be  purely  and  be  meekly  borne  ; 
Be  husbanded  with  thrifty  care. 
And  sweetened  and  refreshed  with  prayer. 


188 


tj< ^ 


Like  some  deposit  rarely  wrought. 
And  to  be  rendered  up  to  Thee 

In  righteous  deed  and  holy  thought, 
In  soul-desires  Thy  Face  to  see, 

Then  freely  to  be  poured  as  rain 

In  grace  upon  the  heart  again. 

Cease  we  not  then  to  adore 
When  our  footsteps  pass  away 

From  this  House's  hallowed  floor : 
Let  us  worship  all  the  day 

By  a  soul  to  Thee  resigned 

And  by  the  love  of  human  kind. 

Nor  for  this  day  alone,  but  all. 

Till  soon  again  in  holy  fear 
Upon  our  present  Lord  we  call. 

And  hold  with  Him  communion  here. 
Discerning  from  our  earthly  food, 
His  broken  Body  and  His  Blood. 

The  Right  Hon.  W.  E.  Gladstone. 
(May  1836.) 


189 


VIA    DOLOROSA 

rpHOU  inevitable  day, 
^    When  a  voice  to  me  shall  say, 
"  Thou  must  rise  and  come  away ; 

'^  All  thine  other  journeys  past. 
Gird  thee  and  make  ready  fast, 
For  thy  longest  and  thy  last !  " 

Day  deep  hidden  from  our  sight. 

In  impenetrable  night, 

Who  may  guess  of  thee  aright  ? 

Wilt  thou  come  ?  not  seen  before. 
Thou  art  standing  at  the  door. 
Saying,  "  Light  and  life  are  o'er." 

Or  with  such  a  gradual  pace 
As  shall  leave  me  largest  space 
To  regard  thee  face  to  face  ? 

Little  recks  it  where  or  how. 
If  thou  comest  then  or  now. 
With  a  smooth  or  angry  brow ; 

Come  thou  must,  and  we  must  die : 
Jesus,  Saviour,  stand  Thou  by 
When  that  last  sleep  seals  mine  eye  ! 


Archbishop  Trench.     (1838.) 


^ ^ 

190 


*: 


->^ 


THE    SEA   OF   GALILEE 

J  T  0\\   pleasant  is  thy  deep  blue  wave, 
n      o  Sea  of  Galilee  ! 
The  Glorious  One  Who  came  to  save 
Hath  often  stood  by  thee. 

It  is  not  that  the  fig-tree  grows, 

Or  palms  in  th}'  soft  air ; 
But  Sharon's  fair  and  bleeding  Rose 

Once  shed  its  fragrance  there. 

Graceful  round  thee  the  mountains  meet ; 

Thou  calm  reposing  sea  ; 
But,  far  more  beautiful,  the  Feet 

Of  Jesus  walked  o'er  thee. 

O  Saviour !  gone  to  God's  right  Hand ! 

Yet  the  same  Saviour  still. 
Graved  on  Thy  Heart  is  this  fair  land 

And  every  fragrant  hill. 

Rev.  R.  Murray  M'Cheyne. 

Written  in  Palestine  in  1839. 


* 


191 


•^ 


RESIGNATION 

Oi  HALL  we  grow  weary  in  our  watch 
^     And  murmur  at  the  long  delay. 
Impatient  of  our  Father's  time 
And  His  appointed  way  ? 

Easier  to  smite  with  Peter's  sword 

Than  "  watch  one  hour  "  in  humble  prayer  ; 

Life's  great  things,  like  the  Syrian  lord, 
Our  hearts  can  do  and  dare. 

But,  ah  !  we  shrink  from  Jordan's  side, 
From  waters  which  alone  can  save ; 

And  murmur  for  Abana's  banks 
And  Pharpar's  brighter  wave. 

O  Thou,  Who  in  the  garden's  shade 

Didst  wake  Thy  weary  ones  again, 
Who  slumbered  at  that  fearful  hour. 

Forgetful  of  Thy  pain. 

Bend  o'er  us  now,  as  over  them. 

And  set  our  sleep-bound  spirits  free, 

Nor  leave  us  slumbering  in  the  watch 
Our  souls  should  keep  for  Thee. 

J.  G.  Whittier.     (184.6.) 

>^ ^ 

192 


>^: 


->^ 


* 


HYMN   FOR   CHILDREN 

T"  ITTLE  travellers  Zionward, 
-^       Each  one  entering  into  rest 
In  the  Kingdom  of  your  Lord, 

In  the  mansions  of  the  blest ; 
There  to  welcome,  Jesus  waits. 

Gives  the  crown  His  followers  win  ; 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates. 
Let  the  little  travellers  in. 

Who  are  they  whose  little  feet. 

Pacing  life's  dark  journey  through, 
Now  have  reached  the  heavenly  gate 

They  had  ever  kept  in  view  ? 
Some  from  Greenland's  frozen  land ; 

Some  from  India's  sultry  plain  ; 
Some  from  Afric's  barren  sand  ; 

Some  from  islands  of  the  main. 

All  their  earthly  journey  past, 

Every  tear  and  pain  gone  by. 
There  together  met  at  last 

In  the  portal  of  the  sky. 
Each  the  welcome  "  Come  "  awaits, 

Conquerors  over  death  and  sin  ; 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates. 

Let  the  little  travellers  in  ! 

James  Edmeston.     (1846.) 


193 


^ ^ 


THE   ETERNAL   FATHER 

li/TY  GOD.  how  wonderful  Thou  art. 

Thy  Majesty  how  bright. 
How  beautiful  Thy  mercy-seat 
In  depths  of  burning  light ! 

How  dread  are  Thine  eternal  years, 

O  everlasting  Lord, 
By  prostrate  spirits  day  and  night 

Incessantly  adored  ! 

How  wonderful,  how  glorious 

The  sight  of  Thee  must  be. 
Thine  endless  wisdom,  boundless  power, 

And  awful  purity ! 

Oh,  how  I  fear  Thee,  Living  God, 
With  deepest,  tenderest  fears, 

And  worship  Thee  with  trembling  hope. 
And  penitential  tears  ! 


^ ■ ^ 

194 


^. >^ 


Yet  I  may  love  Thee  too,  O  Lord, 

Almighty  as  Thou  art, 
For  Thou  hast  stooped  to  ask  of  me 

The  love  of  my  poor  heart. 

No  earthly  father  loves  like  Thee, 

No  mother,  e'er  so  mild. 
Bears  and  forbears  as  Thou  hast  done 

With  me.  Thy  sinful  child. 

Father  of  Jesus,  love's  reward. 

What  rapture  will  it  be 
Prostrate  before  Thy  Throne  to  bow. 

And  gaze,  my  Lord,  on  Thee. 

Dr.  F.  W.  Faber.     (1848.) 


1.95 


>& ^ 


THE   CHILD^S   MORNING   HYMN 

C<  AVIOUH,  to  Thy  cottage  home 
'^     Once  the  daylight  used  to  come  ; 

Thou  hast  oft-time  seen  it  break 

Brightly  o'er  that  Eastern  lake. 

Thou  wast  meek  and  undefiled, 
Make  me  holy,  too,  and  mild  ; 
Thou  didst  foil  the  tempter's  power. 
Help  me  in  temptation's  hour. 

Fretful  feeling,  passion,  pride, 
Never  did  with  Thee  abide ; 
Make  me  watch  myself  to-day. 
That  they  lead  me  not  astray. 

With  Thee,  Lord,  I  would  arise. 
To  Thee  look  with  opening  eyes ; 
All  the  day  be  at  my  side. 
Saviour,  Pattern,  King,  and  Guide. 

Mrs.  C.  F.  Alexander.     (1848.) 


>^ —^ —  >^ 

196 


^. — ^ ^ ^ 


CHILD^S   EVENING    HYMN 

/^N  the  dark  hill's  western  side 
^^      The  last  purple  gleam  has  died 
Twilight  to  one  solemn  hue 
Changes  all,  both  green  and  blue. 

In  the  fold  and  in  the  nest. 
Birds  and  lambs  are  gone  to  rest ; 
Labour's  weary  task  is  o'er. 
Closely  shut  the  cottage  door. 

'Twas  a  starry  night  of  old. 
When  rejoicing  angels  told 
The  poor  shepherds  of  Thy  Birth, 
God  become  a  Child  on  earth. 

Soft  and  quiet  is  the  bed 
Where  I  lay  my  little  head  ; 
Thou  hadst  but  a  manger  bare. 
Rugged  straw  for  pillow  fair. 


*- 


197 


►^ 


^ ^ 


Saviour,  'twas  to  win  me  grace 
Thou  didst  stoop  to  that  poor  place. 
Loving  with  a  perfect  love 
Child,  and  man,  and  God  above. 

Hear  me  as  alone  I  lie, 
Plead  for  me  with  God  on  high. 
All  that  stained  my  soul  to-day 
Cleanse  me  from  my  sins  away 

Happy  now  I  turn  to  sleep ; 
Thou  wilt  watch  around  me  keep  ; 
Him  no  danger  e'er  can  harm 
Who  lies  cradled  on  Thine  Arm. 

Mrs.  C.  F.  Alexander.     (1848.) 


* TT. * 

J  98 


^ >^ 

DIADEMATA 

/~^ROWN  Him  with  many  crowns. 
The  Lamb  upon  His  Throne  ; 
Hark  how  the  heavenly  anthem  drowns 
All  music  but  its  own. 
Awake,  my  soul,  and  sing 
Of  Him  who  died  for  thee, 
And  hail  Him  as  the  matchless  King 
Through  all  Eternity. 

Crown  Him  the  Lord  of  love. 
Behold  His  Hands  and  Side, 
Those  Wounds  yet  visible  above 
In  beauty  glorified : 
No  angel  in  the  sky 

Can  fully  bear  that  sight. 
But  downward  bends  his  wondering  eye 
At  mysteries  so  bright. 

Crown  Him  the  Lord  of  Life, 
Who  triumphed  o'er  the  grave. 
And  rose  victorious  in  the  strife 
For  those  He  came  to  save. 
His  glories  now  we  sing 
♦  Who  died  and  rose  on  high. 

Who  died  eternal  life  to  bring. 

And  lives  that  death  may  die. 

>^ >^ 

199 


^ -* 


*- 


Crown  Him  the  Lord  of  peace. 
Whose  power  a  sceptre  sways 
From  pole  to  pole,  that  wars  may  cease. 
And  all  be  prayer  and  praise  : 
His  reign  shall  know  no  end, 
And  round  His  pierced  Feet 
Fair  flowers  of  Paradise  extend 
Their  fragrance  ever  sweet. 


•&" 


Crown  Him  the  Lord  of  Heaven, 
One  with  the  Father  known. 
And  the  blest  Spirit  through  Him  given 
From  yonder  Triune  throne  : 
All  hail.  Redeemer,  hail ! 
For  Thou  hast  died  for  me  : 
Thy  praise  and  glory  shall  not  fail 
Throughout  eternity. 

Matthew  Bridges.     (1842.) 

From  the  Koman  Catholic  Hymnary. 


200 


^. }^ 


TT'OR  the  spirit  confused 

With  misgiving  and  with  sorrow, 
Let  me,  my  Saviour,  borrow 
The  Hght  of  faith  from  Thee. 

0  hft  from  it  the  burden 
Which  bows  it  down  before  Thee, 
With  sighs  and  with  weeping 

1  commend  myself  to  Thee  ; 
My  faded  hfe.  Thou  knowest, 
Little  by  little  is  wasted 
Like  wax  before  the  fire, 
Like  snow-wreaths  in  the  sun  : 
And  for  the  soul  that  panteth 
For  its  refuge  in  Thy  bosom, 
Break  Thou  the  ties,  my  Saviour, 
That  hinder  it  from  Thee. 

Giuseppe  Giusti.     (1850.) 
Tr.  by  W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


One  of  the  very  few  modern  Italian  hymns.  The  author 
had  been  one  of  the  chief  satirists  of  his  country  in  the  last 
century. 


201 


^- 


THE    NIGHT    VIGIL 

OOUL,  thy  week  of  toil  is  ended, 
'^     And  a  voice,  whilst  world-cares  fly. 
With  the  closing  hours  is  blended, — 
"  Rest  is  coming,  rest  is  nigh." 

Is  my  journey  full  of  sadness, 

Through  a  desert  wild  and  drear  ? 

Be  to  me  a  well  of  gladness ; 
Bid  me  quite  forget  ray  fear. 

So  when  life's  long  week  is  over, 

Blessed  it  will  be  to  die  ; 
Angels  whispering,  as  they  hover, — 

"  Rest  is  coming,  rest  is  nigh." 

Then  the  heavenly  rest  to  enter, 

In  Thy  mercy,  Lord,  be  mine  : 
Rest  of  God  !  the  Sun  and  Centre 

Of  the  bliss  that  is  divine. 

G.   Rawson.     (1853.) 


^- 


202 


>^ ^ ^ 


PASSIONTIDE 

TT  ORD  JESUS,  when  we  stand  afar 
And  gaze  upon  Thy  Holy  Cross 
In  love  of  Thee,  and  scorn  of  self. 

Oh,  may  we  count  the  world  as  loss. 
When  we  behold  Thy  bleeding  wounds 

And  the  rough  way  that  Thou  hast  trod. 
Make  us  to  hate  the  load  of  sin 

That  lay  so  heavy  on  our  God  ! 

O  Holy  Lord !  uplifted  high. 

With  outstretched  arms  in  mortal  woe, 
Embracing  in  Thy  wondrous  love 

The  sinful  world  that  lies  below ; — 
Give  us  an  ever-living  faith 

To  gaze  beyond  the  things  we  see  : 
And  in  the  mystery  of  Thy  death 

Draw  us  and  all  men  unto  Thee  ! 

Bishop  Walsh  am   How.     (1854.) 


>B ^ 

203 


>^- 


CHASTISEMENT 

/^  THOU  whose  sacred  Feet  have  trod 
^-^      The  thorny  path  of  woe, 
Forbid  that  I  should  sUght  the  rod, 

Or  faint  beneath  the  blow. 
My  spirit  to  its  chastening  stroke 

I  meekly  would  resign. 
Nor  murmur  at  the  heaviest  yoke 

That  tells  me  I  am  Thine. 

Give  me  the  spirit  of  Thy  trust 

To  suffer  as  a  son, 
To  say,  though  lying  in  the  dust, 

"  My  Father's  will  be  done  !  " 
I  know  that  trial  works  for  ends 

Too  high  for  sense  to  trace, — 
That  oft  in  dark  attire  He  sends 

Some  embassy  of  grace. 

May  none  depart  till  I  have  gained 

The  blessing  which  it  bears. 
And  learned,  though  late,  I  entertained 

An  angel  unawares. 
So  shall  I  bless  the  hour  that  sent 

The  mercy  of  the  rod, 
And  build  an  altar  by  the  tents 

Where  I  have  met  with  God. 

■9 

Rev.  J.  Drummond  Burns,  M.A.     (1854.) 
204 


^- • ^ 


PASSIONTIDE 

~VyO  more  let  sorrow  cloud  the  eye. 

Nor  fears  the  spirit  fill ; 
Though  now  the  parting  hour  is  nigh. 
My  Heart  is  with  you  still. 

My  Father  sent  me  from  above, 

His  mercy's  brightest  sign  ; 
And  if  you  trust  His  changeless  love, 

0  wherefore  doubt  of  mine  ? 

The  stretching  shadow  of  the  Cross 

Now  overcasts  my  soul  ; 
You  sorrow  for  the  coming  loss — 

1  long  to  reach  the  goal. 

My  Love  must  first  be  tried  by  death 

Before  it  proves  its  power, 
And  through  its  triumph  give  you  faith 

For  many  an  evil  hour. 


205 


>^ >B 


Dark  clays  will  come  when  I  depart. 

But  east  your  care  on  Me, 
And  I,  unseen,  will  keep  the  heart 

From  fear  and  fainting  free. 

The  thorny  path  that  I  have  trod 

Is  also  traced  for  you  ; 
But  where  I  walked  alone  with  God 

Ye  have  a  Saviour  too. 

Rev.  J.  Drummond  Burns,  M.A.     (1855.) 
(Died  1864.) 


This  author's  sacred  verse  has  been  said  to  "  rank  amongst 
the  very  best  of  our  modern  hymnody  for  beauty,  simplicity 
of  diction,  and  depth  of  religious  feeling." — Rev.  J.  Mearns. 


206 


►^: 


rriHAT  mystic  Word  of  Thine,  O  Sovereign  Lord, 

Is  all  too  pure,  too  high,  too  deep  for  me  ; 
Weary  of  striving,  and  with  longing  faint, 
>  I  breathe  it  back  again  in  prayer  to  Thee. 

Abide  in  me,  I  pray,  and  I  in  Thee  : 

From  this  good  hour  O  leave  me  never  more. 

Then  shall  the  discord  cease,  the  wound  be  healed — 
The  life-long  bleeding  of  the  soul  be  o'er. 

As  some  rare  perfume  in  a  vase  of  clay 
Pervades  it  with  a  fragrance  not  its  own. 

So  when  Thou  dwellest  in  a  mortal  soul 

All    Heaven's    own    sweetness    seems    around    it 
thrown. 

The  soul  alone — like  a  neglected  harp — 

Grows  out  of  tune,  and  needs  that  Hand  Divine ; 

Dwell  Thou  within  it,  tune  and  touch  the  chords 
Till  every  note  and  string  shall  answer  Thine. 

H.   B.  Stowe.     (1855.) 


207 


^ ^ 


THE    gtlNDAY    VIGIL 

/~\  TIME  of  tranquil  joy  and  holy  feeling  ! 
^""^     When  over  earth  God's  Spirit  from  above 

Spreads  out  His  Wings  of  Love  ! 
When  sacred  thoughts,  like  Angels,  come  appealing 
To  our  tent  doors  !  O  e'en  to  earth  and  heaven 

The  sweetest  of  the  seven  ! 

How  peaceful  are  thy  skies  !  the  air  is  clearer 
As  on  the  advent  of  a  gracious  time  : 
.The  sweetness  of  its  prime 
Blesseth  the  world,  and  Eden's  days  seem  nearer : 
I  hear  in  each  faint  stirring  of  the  breeze 
God's  voice  among  the  trees. 

O  while  thy  hallowed  moments  are  distilling 
Their  fresher  influence  on  my  heart  like  dews, 
The  chamber  where  I  muse 
Turns  to  a  temple  !      He  Whose  converse  thrilling 
Honoured  Emmaus  that  old  eventide 
Comes  sudden  to  my  side. 


208 


^, * 


With  light  at  eventide  when  Thou  art  present ; 

Thy  coming  to  the  eleven  in  that  dim  room 

Brightened^  O  Christ  !  its  gloom  : 

So  bless  my  lonely  hour,  that  memories  pleasant 

Around  the  time  a  heavenly  gleam  may  cast 

Which  many  days  shall  last ! 

Even  now  I  see  the  golden  city  shining 

Up  the  blue  depths  of  that  transparent  air  : 
How  happy  all  is  there  ! 
There  breaks  a  day  which  never  knows  declining ; 
A  Sabbath,  through  whose  circling  hours  the  blest 
Beneath  Thy  shadow  rest ! 

Rev.  J.   Drummnod  Burns,  M.A.     (1855.) 


209  0 


^ qi 


rpHE  sands  of  Time  are  sinking, 

The  dawn  of  Heaven  breaks. 

The  summer  morn  I've  sighed  for. 

The  fair  sweet  morn  awakes  : 
Dark,  dark  hath  been  the  midnight. 

But  day-spring  is  at  hand, 
And  glory,  glory  dwelleth 

In  Emmanuel's  land. 

Oh,  Christ,  He  is  the  Fountain, 

The  deep  well-spring  of  love  ! 
The  streams  on  earth  I've  tasted. 

More  deep  I'll  drink  above  : 
There,  to  an  ocean  fulness. 

His  mercy  doth  expand. 
And  Light  and  Glory  dwelleth 

In  Emmanuel's  land. 

With  mercy  and  with  judgment 
My  web  of  time  He  wove  ; 

And  all  the  dews  of  sorrow 
Were  lustred  with  His  love. 


^- 


210 


* — — ^ 


I'll  bless  the  Hand  that  guided, 
I'll  bless  the  Heart  that  planned. 

When  throned  where  glory  dwelleth 
In  Emmanuers  land. 

I've  wrestled  on  toward  Heaven 

'Gahist  storm  and  Mind  and  tide  : 
Now  like  a  weary  traveller 

That  leaneth  on  His  Guide, 
Amid  the  shades  of  evening, 

While  sinks  life's  lingering  sand, 
I  hail  the  glory  dawning 

From  Emmanuel's  land. 

I  shall  sleep  sound  in  Jesus, 

Filled  with  His  likeness  rise 
To  live,  and  to  adore  Him, 

To  see  Him  with  these  eyes. 
The  King  of  Kings  in  Zion 

My  presence  doth  command. 
Where  the  Lamb  is  all  the  Glory 

Of  Emmanuel's  land. 

Mrs.   Ross  Cousin.     (1857.) 
211 


CHRIST  THE   REDEEMER 

XESU^  these  eyes  have  never  seen 
^      That  radiant  Form  of  Thine  ; 
The  veil  of  sense  hangs  dark  between 
Thy  blessed  Face  and  mine. 

I  see  Thee  not,  I  hear  Thee  not. 

Yet  art  Thou  oft  with  me  ; 
And  earth  hath  ne'er  so  dear  a  spot 

As  where  I  meet  with  Thee. 

Like  some  bright  dream,  that  comes  unsought. 

When  slumbers  o'er  me  roll, 
Thine  Image  ever  fills  my  thought 

And  charms  my  wondering  soul. 

Yet  though  I  have  not  seen,  and  still 

Must  rest  in  faith  alone, 
I  love  Thee,  blessed  Lord,  and  will. 

Unseen  but  not  unknown. 

When  death  these  mortal  eyes  shall  seal 

And  still  this  throbbing  heart. 
The  rending  veil  shall  Thee  reveal, 

All-glorious  as  Thou  art. 

Dr.  Ray  Palmer.*    (1858.) 
212 


TTTHEN  for  me  the  silent  oar 

*  ^        Parts  the  silent  River, 
And  I  stand  upon  the  shore 

Of  the  strange  Forever, 
Shall  I  miss  the  loved  and  known  ? 
Shall  I  vainly  seek  mine  own  ? 

Can  the  bonds  that  make  us  here 

Know  ourselves  immortal, 
Drop  away  like  foliage  sere 

At  life's  inner  portal  ? 
What  is  holiest  below 
Must  for  ever  live  and  grow. 

He  Who  plants  within  our  hearts 

All  this  deep  affection. 
Giving  when  the  form  departs 

Fadeless  recollection, 
Will  but  clasp  the  unbroken  chain 
Closer  when  we  meet  again. 

Therefore  dread  I  not  to  go 

O'er  the  silent  River  ; 
Death,  thy  hastening  oar  I  know ; 

Bear  me.  Thou  Life-Giver, 
Through  the  waters  to  the  shore 
Where  mine  own  have  gone  before. 

L.  Larcom.     (1858.) 

*-- >^ 

213 


*■ 


THE    CLOSING   YEAR 

"T^AYS  and  moments  quickly  flying 
-^-^      Blend  the  living  with  the  dead ; 
Soon  shall  you  and  I  be  lying 
Each  within  his  narrow  bed. 

Soon  our  souls  to  God  Who  gave  them 
Will  have  sped  their  rapid  flight  : 

Able  now  by  grace  to  save  them, 
Oh,  that  while  we  can  we  might ! 

Jesu,  Infinite  Redeemer, 

Maker  of  this  mighty  frame. 
Teach,  oh  teach  us  to  remember 

What  we  are  and  whence  we  came ; 

W  hence  we  came  and  whither  wending ; 

Soon  we  must  through  darkness  go. 
To  inherit  bliss  unending. 

Or  eternity  of  woe. 

Rev.  Edward  Caswall,  M.A.     (1858.) 


The  last  verse  by  the  compilers  of  "  Hymns  Ancient  and 
Modern." 


214 


^■ 


■>^ 


The  Shadow  of  a  great  Rock  iu  a  weary  land. 


rpHE   pathways  of  Thy  land  are  little  changed 

Since  Thou  wert  there  ; 
The  busy  world  through  other  ways  has  ranged 

And  left  these  bare. 


T 


The  rocky  path  still  climbs  the  glowing  steep 

Of  Olivet ; 
Though  rains  of  two  millenniums  wear  it  deep, 

Men  tread  it  yet. 

Still  to  the  gardens  o'er  the  brook  it  leads. 

Quiet  and  low  ; 
Before  his  sheep  the  shepherd  on  it  treads, 

His  voice. they  know. 

The  wild  fig  throws  broad  shadows  o'er  it  still 

As  once  o'er  Thee  ; 
Peasants  go  home  at  evening  up  that  hill 

To  Bethany. 

And  as  when  gazing  Thou  didst  weep  o'er  them, 

From  height  to  height 
The  white  roofs  of  discrowned  Jerusalem 

Burst  on  our  sight. 


t5< 

215 


These  ways  were  strewed  with  garments  once,  and 
pahn, 

Which  we  tread  thus  ; 
Here  through  Thy  triumph  on  Thou  passedst  calm, 

On  to  Thy  Cross. 

The  waves  have  washed  fresh  sand  upon  the  shore 

Of  Gahlee ; 
But  chiselled  on  the  hill-side  evermore 

Thy  paths  we  see. 

Man  has  not  changed  them  in  that  slumbering  land, 

Nor  time  effaced ; 
Where  Thy  Feet  trod  to  bless  we  still  may  stand ; 

All  can  be  traced. 

Yet  we  have  traces  of  Thy  footsteps  far 

Truer  than  these ; 
Where'er  the  poor  and  tired  and  suffering  are. 

Thy  steps  faith  sees. 

Nor  with  fond,  sad  regrets  Thy  steps  we  trace ; 

Thou  art  not  dead  ! 
Our  path  is  onward  till  we  see  Thy  Face 

And  hear  Thy  tread. 

And  now  wherever  meets  Thy  lowliest  band 

In  praise  and  prayer. 
There  is  Thy  presence,  there  Thy  Holy  Land — 

Thou,  Thou  art  there  ! 

Mrs.   RuNDLE  Charles.      (1859.) 

* >^ 

216 


* >B 


r\  GOD,  the  Rock  of  Ages, 

Who  evermore  hast  been. 
What  time  the  tempest  rages, 

Our  dwelHiig-place  serene  : 
Before  Thy  first  creations, 

O  Lord,  the  same  as  now. 
To  endless  generations 

The  Everlasting  Thou  ! 


Our  years  are  like  the  shadows 

On  sunny  hills  that  lie, 
Or  grasses  in  the  meadows 

That  blossom  but  to  die  : 
A  sleep,  a  dream,  a  story 

By  strangers  quickly  told, 
An  unremaining  glory 

Of  things  that  soon  are  old. 


* ^ >^ 

217 


>^ * 


O  Thou  Who  canst  not  skniiber, 

Whose  light  grows  never  pale. 
Teach  us  aright  to  number 

Our  years  before  they  fail. 
On  us  Thy  mercy  lighten, 

On  us  Thy  goodness  rest. 
And  let  Thy  Spirit  brighten 

The  hearts  Thyself  hast  blessed. 

Lord,  crown  our  faith's  endeavour 

W^ith  beauty  and  with  grace, 
Till  clothed  in  light  for  ever. 

We  see  Thee  face  to  face : 
A  joy  no  language  measures  ; 

A  fountain  brimming  o'er ; 
An  eiidless  flow  of  pleasures  ; 

An  ocean  without  shore. 

Bishop  Bickersteth,  of  Exeter.     (I860.) 


218 


^- ^ 

TO    THE    HOLY    TRINITY 

Y  GOD  !  my  God  !  I  know  that  Thou  dost  hear 


M 


•j<- 


me, 

Though  midnight  darkness  be  around  me  spread ; 
I  know  Thy  Presence  is  for  ever  near  me. 

Around  my  dwelling  and  about  my  bed  : 
My  Rock,  my  Shield,  the  Tower  of  my  defence  ; 

The  songs  of  angels  echo  round  Thy  Throne, 
And  yet  Thou  lovest  the  trembling  confidence 

Of  the  poor  sinful  heart  that  trusts  in  Thee  alone. 

Creator,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit ! 

My  soul  would  praise  Thee  in  the  silent  night ; 
I  dwell  beneath  Thy  Love,  Thy  Power,  Thy  Merit, 

Thou  my  Salvation,  my  eternal  light : 
And  when  my  feet  shall  tread  the  dreary  vale 

Of  death's  dark  shadow,  in  that  dreadful  hour, 
When  all  is  dark  and  flesh  and  blood  must  fail. 

Oh  !  then,  my  God,  as  now,  uphold  me  with  Thy 
Power. 

Be  with  me  then,  now  make  my  heart  an  altar 

Fragrant  with  incense  of  perpetual  praise  : 
Let  not  my  weak  soul  shrink,  nor  spirit  falter. 

Nor  my  frail  heart  mistrust  those  darksome  ways : 
But  Thou,  O  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise, 

Bright  as  a  morning  from  a  gloomy  night. 
Till  my  rapt  soul  springs  upward  to  the  skies 

And  knows  and  owns  Thee  there,  her  strength, 
her  joy,  her  light. 

Canon  Garbett.     (I860.) 


219 


^ * 


TT  came  upon  the  midnight  clear, 
-^     That  glorious  Song  of  old  ; 
From  Angels  bending  near  the  Earth 

To  touch  their  harps  of  gold  ; 
"  Peace  on  the  earth — goodwill  to  men. 

From  Heaven's  all-gracious  King/' 
The  world  in  solemn  stillness  lay 

To  hear  the  Angels  sing. 

Still  through  the  cloven  skies  they  come 

With  peaceful  wings  unfurled. 
And  still  their  heavenly  music  floats 

O'er  all  the  weary  world  : 
Above  its  sad  and  lowly  plains 

They  bend  on  hovering  wing, 
And  ever  o'er  its  Babel  sounds 

The  blessed  Angels  sing. 


220 


*: : * 


O  ye,  beneath  life's  crushing  load. 

With  forms  oft  bending  low, 
Who  toil  along  the  climbing  way 

With  weary  steps  and  slow, 
Look  up  ;  for  lo  !  the  {)eaceful  years 

Come  swiftly  on  the  wing  : 
Of  which,  to  patient  faith  and  hope. 

The  blessed  angels  sing. 

For  lo  !  the  days  are  hastening  on, 

By  prophets  seen  of  old. 
When  with  the  ever-circling  years 

Shall  come  the  time  foretold 
When  the  new  heaven  and  earth  shall  own 

The  Prince  of  Peace  their  King, 
And  the  whole  world  send  back  the  song 

Which  now  the  Angels  sing. 

Dr.  Hamilton  Sears.     (18()0.) 


221 


^ ^ 


f~\^  the  Resurrection  morning 
^-^      Soul  and  body  meet  again  ; 
No  more  sorrow,  no  more  weeping, 
No  more  pain ! 

Here  awhile  they  must  be  parted, 
And  the  flesh  its  Sabbath  keep. 
Waiting  in  a  holy  stilhiess. 
Wrapt  in  sleep. 

For  a  space  the  weary  body 
Lies  with  feet  toward  the  dawn ; 
Till  there  breaks  the  last  and  brightest 
Easter  morn. 

But  the  soul  in  contemplation 
Utters  earnest  prayer  and  strong  ; 
Breaking  at  the  Resurrection 
Into  song. 


222 


►J<— ^ ■* 


Soul  and  body  reunited, 
Thenceforth  nothing  shall  divide, 
Waking  up  in  Christ's  own  likeness 
"  Satisfied." 

Oh  !  the  beauty  and  the  gladness 
Of  that  Resurrection  Day, 
Which  shall  not,  through  endless  ages, 
Pass  away  ! 

On  that  happy  Easter  morning 
All  the  graves  their  dead  restore, 
Father,  sister,  child,  and  mother 
Meet  once  more. 

To  that  brightest  of  all  meetings 
Bring  us,  Jesu  Christ,  at  last ; 
To  Thy  Cross,  through  death  and  judgment. 
Holding  fast. 

Rev.  S.   Baring-Gould,  M.A.     (I86I.) 


^ * 

223 


^ >^ 

'♦And  when  they  had  sung  a  hymn 
they  went  out  into  the  Mount  of  Olives." 

CALM  lay  the  city  in  its  double  sleep 
Beneath  the  Paschal  Moon's  cold  silvery  light, 
That  flung  broad  shadows  o'er  the  rugged  steep 
Of  Olivet  that  night. 

The  Holy  Rite  is  o'er ;  the  Blessed  Sign 

Is  given  to  cheer  us  in  this  earthly  strife ; 
The  Bread  is  broken,  and  outpoured  the  Wine, 
Symbol  of  better  Life. 

The  bitter  cup  of  wrath  before  Him  lies ; 

And  yet  as  up  the  steep  they  pass  along, 
The  mighty  Victim  to  the  Sacrifice, 

They  cheer  the  way  with  song. 

We  ne'er  can  know  such  sorrow  as,  that  night. 

Pierced  to  the  heart  the  suffering  Son  of  God  ; 
And  every  earthly  sadness  is  but  light 
To  that  dark  Path  He  trod ! 

And  yet  how  faint  and  feeble  rise  our  songs. 
How  oft  we  linger  'mid  the  shadows  dim; 
Nor  give  the  glory  that  to  Him  belongs 
In  Eucharistic  hymn ! 

Touch  Thou  our  wayward  hearts,  and  let  them  be 

In  stronger  faith  to  Thy  glad  service  given, 
Till,  o'er  the  margin  of  time's  surging  sea. 
We  sing  the  Song  of  Heaven  ! 


^- 


Canon  R.  H.  Baynes.     (1862.) 


224 


*- 


•»^ 


^ 


/^  LORD  of  Heaven  and  earth  and  sea, 
^-^      To  Thee  all  praise  and  glory  be  ; 
How  shall  we  show  our  love  to  Thee, 
Who  givest  all  ? 

For  peaceful  homes,  and  healthful  days, 
For  all  the  blessings  earth  displays, 
We  owe  Thee  thankfulness  and  praise 
Who  givest  all. 

Thou  didst  not  spare  Thine  Only  Son, 
But  gav'st  Him  for  a  world  undone. 
And  freely  with  that  Blessed  One 
Thou  givest  all. 

For  souls  redeemed,  for  sins  forgiven. 
For  means  of  grace  and  hopes  of  Heaven, 
Father,  what  can  to  Thee  be  given, 
Who  givest  all  ? 

We  lose  what  on  ourselves  we  spend, 
We  have  as  treasure  without  end 
Whatever,  Lord,  to  Thee  we  lend. 
Who  givest  all. 

To  Thee  from  Whom  we  all  derive 
Our  life,  our  gifts,  our  power  to  give  ; 
O  may  we  ever  with  Thee  live 
Who  givest  all. 

Bishop  Christopher  Wordsworth.     (1863.) 


225 


^- ^ 

SACRAMENTAL    HYMN 

rpHOT    standest  at  the  altar, 

*       Thou  ofFerest  every  prayer  ; 
111  faith's  unclouded  vision 
We  see  Thee  ever  there  ; 

Within  the  heavenly  temple 

By  mortal  feet  untrod  ; 
Our  King  and  Priest  for  ever. 

Our  Advocate  with  God. 

Out  of  Thy  hand  the  incense 

Ascends  before  the  throne 
Where  Thou  art  interceding. 

Lord  Jesus,  for  Thine  own. 

And  through  Thy  blood  accepted 
With  Thee  we  keep  the  feast ; 

Thou  art  alone  the  Victim, 
Thou  only  art  the  Priest. 

We  come,  O  only  Saviour, 

On  Thee,  the  Lamb,  to  feed  ; 
Thy  Flesh  is  Bread  from  heaven, 

Thy  Blood  is  Drink  indeed. 

E.  W.  Eddis.     (1864.) 

The  second  verse  is  by  Bishop  Bickersteth,  of  Exeter. 

226 


* * 


REQUIESCAM 

(Found  under  the  Pillow  of  a  Soldier  who  was  lying 

DEAD  IN  THE  HoSPITAL  AT  PoRT  RoYAL,   CaROLINa) 

I  LAY  me  down  to  sleep. 
With  little  thought  or  care 
Whether  my  waking  find 
Me  here  or  there. 

A  bowing,  burdened  head. 

That  only  asks  to  rest 
Unquestioning,  upon 

A  loving  breast. 

My  good  right  hand  forgets 

Its  cunning  now  ; 
To  march  the  weary  march 

I  know  not  how. 

I  am  not  eager,  bold. 

Nor  strong — all  that  is  past : 

I  am  ready  not  to  do 
At  last,  at  last. 

My  half-day's  work  is  done. 

And  this  is  all  my  part ; 
I  give  a  patient  God 

My  patient  heart, 

And  grasp  His  banner  still. 
Though  all  its  blue  be  dim  ; 

These  stripes,  no  less  than  stars. 
Lead  after  Him. 

(1865.) 

^ ^ 

227 


^ »^ 


F 


"OW  severed  is  Jordan, 
Its  waters  back  roll, 
And  "  Onward  "  the  watchword, 
We  pass  to  the  goal ; 
We  march  to  the  land  that  was  promised  of  yore. 
With  the  Ark  of  God's  covenant  going  before. 

O  hark  to  the  trumpet 

Which  sounds  the  advance, 
All  armed  as  to  battle 

With  buckler  and  lance. 
Our  wanderings  are  over, 

The  wilderness  past ; 
Fair  Canaan  is  spreading 

Before  us  at  last. 

Then  why  should  we  tremble, 

Why  linger  or  shrink  .'' 
Why  halt  in  our  marching 
And  pause  on  the  brink  ? 
Before  is  the  land  that  was  promised  of  yore. 
And  the  Ark  of  God's  covenant  ffoeth  before. 


^ __ ^ 

228 


* ^ 


The  foot  of  the  High  Priest 

Has  dipped  in  the  tide  ; 
The  waters  are  standing 

As  walls  on  each  side. 
The  covenant  Angel, 

His  sword  in  His  Hand, 
Is  beckoning  us  on 

To  conquer  the  land. 

For  them  no  returning 

Whilst  traverse  the  bands  ; 
In  the  midst  of  the  river 

God's  oracle  stands. 
In  the  Name  of  the  Father, 
In  the  Name  of  the  Son, 
In  the  Name  of  the  Spirit, 
Blest  Three,  ever  One  ; 
We  march  to  the  Land  which  was  promised  of  yore, 
With  the  Ark  of  God's  Covenant  going  before. 

Rev.  S.  Baking-Gould,  M.A.     (1866.) 


* ii^ -* * 


^ >^ 


THE   TRANSFIGURATION 

XT  PON  the  solitary  mountain's  height, 
^-^       In  radiant  beauty,  but  with  power  concealed, 
The  Son  of  Man,  unveiled  to  mortal  sight. 
Once  stands  revealed  ! 

Yet  not  alone — the  witnesses  are  there, 

The  deathless,  and  the  dead  are  at  His  side, 
Their  lips  the  end  predestinate  declare. 
Nor  seek  to  hide  ! 

But  why  this  world  from  the  mysterious  grave, 

Lawgiver  of  God's  people,  hast  thou  trod  ?. 
Why  came  thy  steeds  of  fire  o'er  Jordan's  wave. 
Prophet  of  God  ? 

Do  ye  revisit  earth  to  testify 

That  Law  and  Voice  Prophetic,  shadows  dim. 
Are  swallowed  up  in  Christ's  last  victory. 
Finished  in  Him  ? 


230 


^ -^ 


Yet  on  the  passing  brightness  of  that  hour 
The  shadow  of  the  Cross  still  darkly  fell. 
As  if  alone  the  hiding  of  His  power 
Ye  dared  to  tell. 

Come^  O  my  soul !  in  holy  rapture  hear 

Tabor  and  Hermon  in  His  Name  rejoice ; 
How  good  for  us  to  be  for  ever  near, 
Listening  His  Voice. 

Lord,  pour  Thy  Spirit  all  our  souls  to  fill, 

Transfigured  to  the  image  of  Thine  own, 
Until  we  rest  upon  Thy  holy  hill 
Before  Thy  Throne. 

Dr.  E.  A.  Dayman.     (1866.) 
From  the  Sarum  Hymnal. 


>J< *^ 

231 


(^ ^ >J< 


X  ORD,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour 

Spent  in  Thy  Presence  will  avail  to  make. 
What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take ; 

What  parched  ground  refreshed,  as  with  a  shower. 
We  kneel,  how  weak  !  we  rise,  how  full  of  power ! 

We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lour ; 
We  rise,  and  all  the  distant  and  the  near 

Stand  forth  in  sunny  outline  brave  and  clear. 
Why  therefore  should  we  do  ourselves  this  wrong. 

Or  others — that  we  are  not  always  strong  ; 
That  we  are  ever  over-borne  with  care ; 

That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be. 
Anxious  or  troubled,  when  with  us  is  prayer. 

And  joy,  and  strength,  and  courage  are  with  Thee. 

Dean  Alford.     (1867.) 


232 


^ — — >^ 


"IT   IS    WELL" 

nnHE  day  is  ended — ere  I  sink  to  sleep, 
-'^      My  weary  spirit  seeks  repose  in  Thine  ; 
Father,  forgive  my  trespasses,  and  keep 
This  little  life  of  mine. 

With  loving-kindness  curtain  Thou  my  bed. 
And  cool  in  rest  my  burning  pilgrim  feet ; 

Thy  pardon  be  the  pillow  for  my  head, 
So  shall  my  rest  be  sweet ! 

At  peace  with  all  the  world,  dear  Lord,  and  Thee, 
No  fears  my  soul's  unwavering  faith  can  shake  ; 

All  well  whichever  side  the  grave  for  me 
The  morning  light  may  break. 

H.  MacEwan  Kimball.     (1867.) 


233 


^ )^ 


IN    MEMORIAM 

^LEEP  thy  last  sleep, 

^      Free  from  care  and  sorrow ; 

Rest  where  none  weep 

Till  the  eternal  morrow  ! 
Though  dark  waves  roll 

O'er  the  silent  river. 
Thy  fainting  soul 

Jesus  can  deliver. 

Life's  dream  is  past — 

All  its  sin,  its  sadness ; 
Brightly  at  last 

Dawns  a  day  of  gladness. 
Under  thy  sod. 

Earth,  receive  our  treasure — 
To  rest  in  God, 

Waiting  all  His  pleasure. 

Though  we  may  mourn 

Those  in  life  the  dearest. 
They  shall  return, 

Christ,  when  Thou  appearest. 
Soon  shall  Thy  voice 

Comfort  those  now  weeping, 
Bidding  rejoice. 

All  in  Jesus  sleeping  ! 

Dr.  E.  A.   Dayman.     (1868.) 
From  the  Sarum  Hymnal. 


^- 


234 


^ ^ 


PASSIONTIDE 

i  Nl)  now,  beloved  Lord,  Thy  Soul  resigning 
-^  »^      Into  Thy  Father's  Arms  with  conscious  Will, 
Calmly,  with  reverend  grace.  Thy  Head  reclining. 
The  throbbing  Brow  and  Labouring  Breast  grow 
still. 

Freely  Thy  Life  Thou  yieldest ;  ere  its  ending. 
Purged  from  sin's  awful  and  accursed  load. 

The  conflict  o'er,  in  perfect  peace  commending 
Thy  Spirit  to  Thy  Father  and  Thy  God. 

O  love  !  o'er  mortal  agony  victorious, 

Now  is  Thy  triumph  !  now  that  cross  shall  shine 

To  earth's  remotest  age  revered  and  glorious, 
Of  suffering's  deepest  mystery  the  sign. 

My  Saviour,  in  mine  hour  of  mortal  anguish. 

When  earth   grows  dim  and   round   me  falls  the 
night, 

O  breathe  Thy  peace,  as  flesh  and  spirit  languish. 
At  that  dread  eventide  let  there  be  light. 

To  Thy  dear  Cross  turn  Thou  my  eyes  in  dying  ; 

Lay  but  my  fainting  head  upon  Thy  Breast ; 
Those  outstretched  Arms  receive  my  latest  sighing ; 

And  then,  oh  !  then.  Thine  everlasting  Rest. 

Mrs.  E.  SiBDALD  Alderson.     (1868.) 

Tn  the  unaltered  form  iu  which  the  hymn  was  originally 
written. 

^ ^ 

235 


^ >^ 


CHRISTMAS 
Hymn  for  Children 

rpHPLRK  came  a  little  Child  to  earth 

Long  ago  ; 
And  the  angels  of  God  proclaimed  His  birth 

High  and  low. 
Out  on  the  night  so  calm  and  still 

Their  song  was  heard, 
For  they  knew  that  the  Child  on  Bethlehem's  hill 

Was  Christ  the  Lord. 

Far  away  in  a  goodly  land 

Fair  and  bright, 
Children  with  crowns  of  glory  stand, 

Robed  in  white, 
In  white  more  pure  than  the  spotless  snow, 

And  their  tongues  unite 
In  the  Psalm  which  the  Angels  sang  long  ago 

On  that  still  niaht. 


^  236  ^ 


^ — ■ '^ 


They  sing  how  the  Lord  of  that  world  so  fair 

A  Child  was  born  ; 
And  that  they  might  a  crown  of  glory  wear. 

Wore  a  crown  of  thorn, 
And  in  mortal  weakness,  in  want  and  pain, 

Came  forth  to  die. 
That  the  children  of  earth  might  for  ever  reign 

With  Him  on  high. 

He  has  put  on  His  Kingly  apparel  now 

In  that  goodly  land  : 
And  He  leads  to  where  fountains  of  waters  flow 

That  chosen  band. 
And  for  evermore,  in  their  robes  so  fair 

And  undefiled. 
Those  ransomed  children  His  praise  declare 

Who  was  once  a  Child. 

Miss  E.  E.  Steele  Elliott.     (1868.) 


^ '^ 


^ ^ 


FOR   A   HOSPITAL   SERVICE 

TjlROM  Thee  all  skill  and  science  flow, 
-*-       All  pity,  care,  and  love. 
All  calm  and  courage,  faith  and  hope. 
Oh,  pour  them  from  above. 

And  part  them.  Lord,  to  each  and  all. 
As  each  and  all  shall  need. 
To  rise,  like  incense,  each  to  Thee 
In  noble  thought  and  deed. 

And  hasten.  Lord,  that  perfect  day 
When  pain  and  death  shall  cease  ; 
And  Thy  just  rule  shall  fill  the  earth 
With  health,  and  light,  and  peace. 

Canon  Kingsley.     (About  1870.) 


>^- 


238 


EVENTIDE 

rriHE  day  Thou  gavest.  Lord,  is  ended. 

The  darkness  falls  at  Thy  behest ; 

To  Thee  our  morning  hymns  ascended. 

Thy  praise  shall  hallow  now  our  rest. 

We  thank  Thee  that  Thy  Church  unsleeping. 
While  earth  rolls  onward  into  light, 

Through  all  the  world  her  watch  is  keeping. 
And  rests  not  now  by  day  or  night. 

As  o'er  each  continent  and  island 

The  dawn  leads  on  another  day. 
The  voice  of  prayer  is  never  silent. 

Nor  dies  the  strain  of  praise  away. 

The  sun,  that  bids  us  rest,  is  waking 
Our  brethren  'neath  the*western  sky, 

And  hour  by  hour  fresh  lips  are  making 
Thy  wondrous  doings  heard  on  high. 

So  be  it.  Lord  ;  Thy  Throne  shall  never, 
Like  earth's  proud  empires,  pass  away ; 

But  stand,  and  rule,  and  grow  for  ever, 
Till  all  Thy  creatures  own  Thy  sway. 

Rev.  John  Ellerton,  M.A.     (1870.) 


^ m ^ 


^_ ^ 

IN    MEMORIAM 

WREATHS  for  our  graves  the  Lord  has  given. 
The  Cross  with  Crowns  is  hung : 
And  blent  with  music  learnt  in  heaven 
Our  hymn  of  praise  is  sung. 

The  gulf  of  death  how  dark  with  fears 

Is  bridged  by  hope  and  love  ; 
The  memories  we  have  sown  in  tears 

Bloom  fair  in  light  above. 

Oh  !  who  are  those  who  join  with  us, 

Who  set  the  note  of  praise. 
Whose  gleaming  vestures  touch  us  thus, 

Whose  hearts  our  hearts  upraise  ? 

They  fought  as  we  are  fighting  now. 

And  still  in  blood  and  flame, 
To  Christ  the  Lord  they  held  their  vow. 

By  Him  they  overcame. 

And  still  with  us  they  have  their  part — 

How  should  we  faint  or  fail 
Who  know  what  fellowship  of  heart 

Is  ours  beyond  the  veil  ? 

Ours  the  Communion  of  All  Saints — 

The  Church's  faithful  dead — 
To  cheer  us  when  our  spirit  faints, 

And  hope  and  strength  are  fled. 

Mrs.  L.  Massey.     (1871.) 

^ >^ 

240 


>^ ^ 


/~^OME  in,  oh  come  !  the  door  stands  open  now ; 
^^^    I  knew  Thy  Voice  ;  Lord  Jesus,  it  was  Thou. 
The  Sun  has  set  long  since,  the  storms  begin ; 
'Tis  time  for  Thee,  my  Saviour,  oh  come  in  ! 

Come  even  now  !     But  think  not  here  to  find 
A  lodging,  Lord,  and  converse  to  Thy  mind. 
The  Lamp  burns  low,  the  heart  is  chill  and  pale, 
Wet  through  the  broken  casement  pours  the  gale. 

Alas  !  ill-ordered  shows  the  dreary  room  ; 
The  household  stuff  lies  heaped  amidst  the  gloom. 
The  table  empty  stands,  the  couch  undrest : 
Ah  !  what  a  welcome  for  the  eternal  Guest,  ^ 

Yet  welcome,  welcome  now,  this  doleful  scene 
Is  e'en  itself  my  cause  to  hail  Thee  in  ; 
This  dark  confusion  e'en  at  once  demands 
Thine    own    bright    Presence,    Lord,    and    orderin 
Hands. 


^ ' >B 

241  Q 


>^ ^ >i< 


I  seek  no  more  to  alter  things^,  or  mend, 
Before  the  coming  of  so  great  a  Friend  ; 
All  were  at  best  unseemly,  and  'twere  ill 
Beyond  all  else  to  keep  Thee  waiting  still. 

Then  as  Thou  art,  all  holiness  and  bliss, 
Come  in  and  see  my  chamber  as  it  is, 
I  bid  Thee  welcome  boldly,  in  the  name 
Of  Thy  great  glory,  and  my  want  and  shame. 

Come  not  to  find,  but  make,  this  troubled  heart 
A  dwelling  worthy  of  Thee  as  Thou  art ; 
To  chase  the  gloom,  the  terror  and  the  sin. 
Come,  all  Thyself,  yea  come.  Lord  Jesus,  in ! 

The  Right  Rev.  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Durham. 
(1874.) 


*- 


242 


SACRAMENTAL   HYMN 

/^  KING  of  Mercy !  from  Thy  Throne  on  high 
^^^    Look  clown  in  love,  and  hear  our  humble  cry. 

Thou  tender  Shepherd  of  the  blood-bought  sheep. 
Thy  feeble,  wandering  flock  in  safety  keep. 

O  gentle  Saviour,  by  Thy  death  we  live ; 
To  contrite  sinners  life  eternal  give. 

Thou  art  the  Bread  of  Heaven,  on  Thee  we  feed  ; 
Be  near  to  help  our  souls  in  time  of  need. 

Thou  art  the  mourner's  stay,  the  sinner's  friend, 
Sweet  Fount  of  joy  and  blessings  without  end. 

Oh  come  and  cheer  us  with  thy  heavenly  grace, 
Reveal  the  brightness  of  Thy  glorious  f;ice  ! 

In  cooling  cloud  by  day,  in  fire  by  night. 

Be  near  our  steps,  and  make  our  darkness  light. 

Go  where  we  go,  abide  where  we  abide. 

In  life  and  death,  our  Comfort,  Strengtli,  and  Guide. 

Oh  lead  us  daily  with  Thine  Eye  of  love, 
And  bring  us  safely  to  our  home  above  ! 

Professor  T.  R.  Birks.     (1874.) 


243 


^ ^ 


>i<- 


rriHE  Heavens  declare  Thy  glory, 

The  firmament  Thy  power  ; 
Day  unto  day  the  story 

Repeats  from  hour  to  hour  ; 
Night  unto  night  replying^ 

Proclaims  in  every  land, 
O  Lord,  with  voice  undying, 

The  wonders  of  Thy  Hand. 


How  perfect,  just,  and  holy 

The  precepts  Thou  hast  given ! 
Still  making  wise  the  lowly. 

They  lift  the  thoughts  to  heaven 
How  pure,  how  soul-restoring 

Thy  gospel's  heavenly  ray, 
A  brighter  radiance  pouring 

Than  noon  of  brisjjhtest  day  ! 


i 


244 


^ -^ 


Oh,  who  can  make  confession 

Of  every  secret  sin  ; 
Or  keep  from  all  transgression 

His  spirit  pure  within  ? 
But  let  me  never  boldly 

From  Thy  commands  depart^ 
Or  render  to  Thee  coldly 

The  service  of  my  heart. 

All  heaven  on  high  rejoices 

To  do  its  Maker's  Will ; 
The  stiiYS,  with  solemn  voices, 

Resound  Thy  praises  still : 
So  let  my  whole  behaviour, 

Thoughts,  words,  and  actions  be, 
O  Lord,  my  strength,  my  Saviour, 

One  ceaseless  song  to  Thee. 

Professor  T.  R.  Birks.      (lS7k) 


^  245 


»J< * 

/~\H,  the  bitter  shame  and  sorrow, 

^-^     That  a  time  could  ever  be, 
When  I  let  the  Saviour's  pity 

Plead  in  vain,  and  proudly  answered, 
"  All  of  self,  and  none  of  Thee." 

Yet  He  found  me  ;  I  beheld  Him 

Bleeding  on  the  accursed  tree. 
Heard  Him  pray,  ''  Forgive  them.  Father  !  " 

And  my  wistful  lieart  said  faintly, 
"  Some  of  self,  and  some  of  Thee." 

Day  by  day  His  tender  mercy. 

Healing,  helping,  full  and  free. 
Sweet  and  strong,  and  ah  !  so  patient, 

Brought  me  lower,  and  I  whispered, 
"  Less  of  self,  and  more  of  Thee." 

Higher  than  the  highest  heaven. 

Deeper  than  the  deepest  sea. 
Lord,  Thy  love  at  last  hath  conquered ; 

Grant  me  now  my  supplication, 
"  None  of  self,  and  all  of  Thee." 

Rev.  Theodore  Monod, 
Of  the  French  Reformed  Church  in  Paris. 

Written  wheu  in  England  in  1874. 


^ ^ 

246 


^ ^ >^ 


HYMN   FOR   LENT 

A  LL  my  sins  uprising  now, 
"^^       Wring  my  heart  and  brand  my  brow 
Sins  of  childhood,  sins  of  youth. 
Despite  done  to  Grace  and  Truth  : 

Is  there  mercy  left  for  me  ? 

Jesus  died  !     He  died  for  thee. 

Deeds  and  words,  and  fancies  vain, 
Darker,  deadlier  made  the  stain 
On  the  record  kept  on  high. 
On  my  soul  condemned  to  die  : 

Is  there  cleansing  left  for  me  ? 

The  Saviour  bled !     He  bled  for  thee. 

Ah,  my  heart  is  hard  within. 
Callous  through  repeated  sin  ; 
When  I  fain  would  kneel  and  pray, 
Satan  steals  the  power  away  : 

Say,  what  hope  remains  for  me  ? 

Jesus  prayed  !     He  prays  for  thee. 


^■ 


247 


* ^ 


Once  far  back  in  earlier  years, 
I  bedewed  my  couch  with  tears  ; 
Now  no  bitter  drops  will  flow 
From  my  deeper  fount  of  woe  : 

Death  and  Judgment  wait  for  me  ! 

Jesus  wept !     He  wept  for  thee. 

Dare  I  lift  my  guilty  face, 
1  who  trampled  on  His  Grace  ? 
Dare  I  seek  the  Throne  of  Light 
Where  His  saints  are  clad  in  white  ? 

How  they  all  would  shrink  from  me ; 

Jesus  turns  !     He  looks  for  thee. 

Jesu  died,  to  make  thee  w  hole  ! 
He  bled,  to  cleanse  thy  guilty  soul  : 
He  prayed  for  thee,  and  thou  hast  part : 
He  wept,  to  break  thy  sinful  heart ; 

Jesus  speaks  :  poor  sinner,  see, 

Rise,  look  up.  He  calleth  thee. 

Rev.  G.  S.  Hodges.     (1875.) 


24S 


>J( >^ 


HYMN   FOR   GOOD   FRIDAY 


~Y  ORD,  when  Thy  Kingdom  conies  remember  me 

Thus  spake  the  dying  lips  to  tlying  Ears  ; 
O  faith,  which  in  that  darkest  hour  could  see 
The  promised  glory  of  the  far-off"  years. 


No  kingly  sign  declares  that  glory  now, 
No  ray  of  hope  lights  up  that  awful  hour ; 

A  thorny  crown  surrounds  the  bleeding  Brow, 

The  Hands  are  stretched  in  weakness,  not  in  power 

Yet  hear  the  word  the  dying  Saviour  saith, 
"  Thou  too  shalt  rest  in  Paradise  to-day  ; " 

O  Words  of  love  to  answer  words  of  faith  ! 
O  Words  of  hope  for  those  who  live  to  pray ! 

Lord,  when  with  dying  lips  my  prayer  is  said, 
Grant  that  in  faith  Thy  Kingdom  1  may  see  ; 

And  thinking  on  Thy  Cross  and  bleeding  Head, 
May  breathe  my  parting  words,  Remember  me. 


5^549 


■>^ 


^- 


Remeniber  me,  but  not  my  shame  or  sin  ; 

Thy  cleansing  Blood  hath  washed  them  all  away ; 
Thy  precious  Death  for  me  did  pardon  win  ; 

Thy  Blood  redeemed  me  in  that  awful  day. 

Remember  me ;  yet  how  canst  Thou  forget 

What  pain  and  anguish  I  have  caused  to  Thee, 

The  Cross,  the  Agony,  the  Bloody  Sweat, 
And  all  the  sorrow  Thou  didst  bear  for  me  ? 

Remember  me  ;  and  ere  I  pass  away 

Speak  Thou  the  assuring  word  that  sets  us  free. 
And  make  Thy  promise  to  my  heart,  "  To-day 

Thou  too  shalt  rest  in  Paradise  with  Me." 

His  Grace  the  Archbishop  of  York.     (1875.) 


* 

250 


>±^- 


^ 


>b- 


IN    PARADISE 

IT  is  finished  !     Blessed  Jesus, 
Thou  hast  breathed  Thy  hitest  sigli, 
Teaching  us,  the  sons  of  Adam, 
How  the  Son  of  God  can  die. 

Lifeless  lies  the  broken  Body, 

Hidden  in  its  rocky  bed, 
Laid  aside,  like  folded  garments  : 

Where  is  now  the  Spirit  fled  ? 

In  the  gloomy  realms  of  darkness 
Shines  a  light  unknown  before. 

For  the  Lord  of  dead  and  living 
Enters  at  the  open  door. 

See  !   He  comes,  a  willing  Victim, 

Unresisting  hither  led  ; 
Passing  from  the  Cross  of  sorrow 

To  the  mansions  of  the  dead. 

Lo!  the  heavenly  light  around  Him 
As  He  draws  His  people  near ; 

All  amazed  they  stand  rejoicing 
At  the  gracious  Words  they  hear. 


251 


For  Himself  proclaims  the  story 

Of  his  own  Incarnate  Life, 
And  the  Death  He  died  to  save  us, 

Victor  in  that  awful  strife. 

Patriarch,  and  Priest^  and  Prophet, 
Gather  round  Him  as  He  stands. 

In  adoring  faith  and  gladness. 
Hearing  of  the  pierced  Hands. 

Oh,  the  bliss  to  which  He  calls  them, 
Ransomed  by  His  precious  Blood, 

From  the  gloomy  realms  of  darkness 
To  the  Paradise  of  God  ! 

There  in  the  lowliest  joy  and  wonder 
Stands  the  robber  at  His  side, 

Reaping  now  the  blessed  promise 
Spoken  by  the  Crucified. 

Jesus,  Lord  of  dead  and  living. 

Let  Thy  mercy  rest  on  me. 
Grant  me  too,  when  life  is  finished. 

Rest  in  Paradise  with  Thee. 

His  Grace  the  Archbishop  of  York. 

Written  for  Good  Friday,  1875. 

252 


>^-. ^ 


ADVENT 

/"NOME,  gracious  Saviour,  manifest  Thy  glory. 

And  let  Thy  lightnings  shine  from  east  to  west ; 
Oh  !  by  Thine  anguish  'neath  the  olives  hoary, 
Take  us,  Thy  people,  to  Thy  promised  rest. 

Our  eyes  are  weary  watching  for  Thy  coming, 

Watching  through   glare   of  noon   and   gloom  of 
night : 

Hoping  the  morn  may  bring  Thee,  or  the  gloaming 
May  see  Thee  bursting  on  our  happy  sight. 

How  long  shall  stay  the  bitter  strife  and  sorrow, 
And  wrong  have  triumph  o'er  the  true  and  right  ? 

Oh  !  come,  and  coming,  bring  the  better  morrow, 
Whose  noon  shall  never  darken  into  night. 

Come,  gracious  Lord,  our  longing  souls  to  gladden  ; 

Arise  !  O  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise  ! 
Let  hope  deferred  our  hearts  no  longer  sadden, 

But  turn  to  songs  our  sorrows  and  our  siglis. 


Canonic.  D.  Bkix.     (188^2.) 


253 


^ >^ 


HYMN   FOR   THE   PASSING   SOUL 

TTTHEN  on  my  day  of  life  the  night  is  falhng, 

And  in  the  winds  from  unsunned  places  blown 
I  hear  far  voices  out  of  darkness  calling 
My  feet  to  paths  unknown, 

TIiou,  Who  hast  made  my  home  of  life  so  pleasant, 

Leave  not  its  tenant,  when  its  walls  decay ; 
O  Love  Divine,  O  Helper  ever  present, 

Be  Thou  my  Strength  and  Stay  ! 

Be  near  me  when  all  else  is  from  me  drifting — 
Earth,   sky,    home's   pictures,  days   of  shade  and 
shine. 
And  kindly  faces  to  my  own  uplifting 
The  love  which  answers  mine. 

r  have  but  Thee,  my  Father !     Let  Thy  Spirit 

Be  with  me  then  to  comfort  and  uphold  ; 
No  gate  of  pearl,  no  branch  of  palm  I  merit. 
Nor  street  of  shinino;  o-old. 


254, 


^ ^ 


Suffice  it  if — my  good  and  ill  unreckoned. 

And  both  forgiven  through  Thy  abounding  grace — 
I  find  myself  by  hands  familiar  beckoned 
Unto  my  fitting  place. 

Some  humble  door  among  Thy  many  mansions. 

Some  sheltering  shade,  where  sin  and  striving  cease, 
And  flows  for  ever  through  heaven's  green  expansion 
The  river  of  Thy  peace. 

There  from  the  music  round  about  me  stealing 

I  fain  would  learn  the  new  and  holy  song. 
And  find  at  last,  beneath  Thy  trees  of  healing, 
The  life  for  which  I  long. 

J.  G.  Whittier.     (1882.) 


►i^- 


^55 


^ >5( 


A  DOWN  the  river  year  by  year 
The  fragile  bark  flies  fast ; 
And  still  a  fond  reverted  gaze 
Goes  back  to  days  long  past. 

Long,  long  ago  the  voices  loved 
Have  breathed  their  last  farewell ; 

And  yet  their  tones  M'ithin  the  heart 
Still  nnforgotten  dwell. 

But  soon  a  golden  ray  shall  dart 

Across  the  eastern  sky, 
To  bid  the  weary  earth  rejoice  ; 

At  last  her  Lord  draws  nigh. 

O  time,  fly  fast !     O  ages,  end  ! 

That  Fie  whom  we  adore 
May  gather  round  Himself  His  own 

For  ever,  evermore. 

Canon  L  Gregory  Smit[i.     (1884,) 


*- 


256 


■* 


/"^OMES    at  times  a  stillness  as  of  even, 

Steeping  the  soul  in  memories  of  love  ; 
As  when  the  glow  is  sinking  out  of  heaven. 

As  when  the  twilight  deepens  in  the  grove  ; 
Comes  at  length  a  sound  of  many  voices, 

As  when  the  waves  break  lightly  on  the  shore  ; 
As  when  at  dawn  the  feathered  choir  rejoices, 

Singing  aloud,  because  the  night  is  o'er. 

Comes  at  times  a  voice'  of  days  departed. 

On  the  dying  breath  of  evening  borne  ; 
Sinks  then  the  traveller,  faint  and  weary-hearted  ; 

"Long  is  the  way" — it  whispers — "and  forlorn!" 
Comes  at  last  a  voice  of  thrilling  gladness, 

Borne  on  the  breezes  of  the  rising  day, 
Saying  the  Lord  shall  make  an  end  of  sadness  ; 

Saying  the  Lord  shall  wipe  all  earthly  tears  away. 

Canon  L  Gregory  Smith.     (1884.) 


Written  for  the  unveiling  of  tlie  Albert  Memorial  at  Edin- 
burgh. It  was  also  sung  at  the  Memorial  Service  for  General 
Grant  in  Westminster  Abbey,  August  18S5. 


257  R 


THE   ETERNAL   GOODNESS 

TT  SEE  the  wrong  that  round  me  hes, 

I  feel  the  guilt  within, 
I  hear  with  groans  and  travail-cries 
The  world  confess  its  sin. 

Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things, 
And  tossed  by  storm  and  flood. 

To  one  fixed  stake  my  spirit  clings, 
I  know  that  God  is  good  ! 

I  dimly  guess  from  blessings  known 

Of  greater  out  of  sight. 
And  with  the  chastened  Psalmist  own 

His  judgments  too  are  right. 

1  long  for  household  voices  gone, 
For  vanished  smiles  I  long, 

But  God  hath  led  my  dear  ones  on. 
And  He  can  do  no  wrong. 

I  know  not  what  the  future  hath 

Of  marvel  or  surprise. 
Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 

His  mercy  underlies. 


258 


And  if  my  heart  and  flesh  are  weak 

To  bear  an  untried  pain. 
The  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break, 

But  strenothen  and  sustain. 

No  offering  of  my  ow^n  I  have. 

Nor  works  my  faith  to  prove  : 
I  can  but  give  the  gifts  He  gave. 

And  plead  His  love  for  love. 

And  so  beside  the  silent  sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar ; 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 

On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air, 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care. 

John  G.  Wiiittier.     (1884.) 


More  than  thirty  of  this  author's  liymns  arc  in  extensive 
use  in  America,  yet  with  great  humility  lie  has  written :  "  I 
am  really  not  a  hymn-writer.  A  good  hymn  is  the  best  use 
to  which  poetry  can  be  devoterl,  but  I  do  not  claim  that  I 
have  succeeded  in  composing  one. — J.  G.  W. " 

In  his  "Hymnology"  Canon  Julian  has  said  that  "the 
hymnic  clement  in  the  original  of  the  above  verse  is  of  a 
high  and  enduring  order." 


259 


^ >^ 


^^ 


TE  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 


To  bring  the  Lord  Christ  down 


In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps 
For  Him  who  reigns  alone. 

But  to  the  contrite  spirit  yet 

A  present  help  is  He  ; 
And  faith  has  yet  its  Olivet, 

And  love  its  Galilee. 

The  healing  of  His  seamless  dress 

Is  by  our  beds  of  pain  ; 
We  touch  Him  in  life's  throng  and  press. 

And  we  are  whole  again. 

I'hrough  Him  the  first  fond  prayers  are  said 

Our  lips  of  childhood  frame  ; 
The  last  low  whispers  of  our  dead 

Are  burdened  with  His  Name. 

O  Lord  and  Saviour  of  us  all, 

Whate'er  our  name  or  sign. 
We  own  Thy  sway,  we  hear  Thy  call. 

And  form  our  lives  by  Thine. 

We  faintly  hear,  we  dimly  see. 

In  differing  phrase  we  pray  ; 
But,  dim  or  clear,  we  own  in  Thee 

The  Life,  the  'l^-uth,  the  Way. 

J.  G.  Whittier.     (1884.) 


260 


>^ ^ 


FOR    DIVINE    MERCY 

I^OT  for  our  sins  alone 

Thy  mercy,  Lord,  we  sue  ; 
Let  fall  Thy  pitying  glance 

On  our  devotions  too ; 
What  we  have  done  for  Thee, 

And  what  we  think  to  do. 

The  holiest  hours  we  spend 

In  prayer  upon  our  knees, 
The  times  when  most  we  deem 

Our  songs  of  praise  will  please, 
'J'hou  Searcher  of  all  hearts, 

Forgiveness  pour  on  these. 

And  all  the  jjifts  we  briui)-, 

And  all  the  vows  we  make. 
And  all  the  acts  of  love 

We  plan  for  Thy  dear  sake. 
Into  Thy  pardoning  thought, 

O  God  of  mercy,  take. 

Canon  Twells.     (I889.) 


261 


^ — ^ 


HYMN   FOR   GOOD    FRIDAY 


r^  ETHSEMANE  !  Gethsemane  ! 
My  spirit  yearneth  to  be  free 
From  sin  and  shame  at  thought  of  Thee. 


There  did  the  Saviour's  Blood-sweat  rain 

In  Agony  of  mortal  pain 

Upon  thy  Soil  —  oh  !  not  in  vain. 

Friendship's  default,  the  lying  kiss^ 

The  serried  spite  of  enemies. 

This  was  His  Soul's  experience^  this. 

Gethsemane^  Gethsemane, 

Oh  !  that  thou  would'st  reveal  to  me 

That  which  thine  Olives  once  did  see  ! 

And  what  in  that  fierce  strife  with  hell 
He  suffered  none  may  dare  to  tell. 
But  the  Lord  God  remembereth  well. 


262 


*- 


For  in  that  solemn  hour  he  bore 
The  sins  of  all  that  sinned  before 
Or  shall  sin,  till  sin  shall  be  no  more. 

■» 
Gethsemane,  Gethsemane, 
From  thy  deep  shades  of  silence  He 
Passed  to  His  Death  upon  the  Tree. 

He  died — and  all  the  angelic  eyes 
Looked  in  adoring  strong  surprise 
On  that  eternal  sacrifice. 

And  He  Who  Sits  upon  the  Throne 
Declared  the  deed  divinely  done, 
And  God  and  man  for  ever  one. 


Bishop  Welldon,  D.D., 
Of  Calcutta. 


J  63 


^ ^ 


THE    VESPER   HYMN 

TTUSH,  my  soul^  what  Voice  is  pleading  ? 
^^     Thou  canst  feel  its  silent  power ; 
Who  is  this  that  speaks  so  gently 

In  this  solemn  evening  hour  ? 
^'  Stay,  poor  sinner ;  life  is  fleeting, 

And  thy  soul  is  dark  within. 
Wilt  thou  wait  till  outer  darkness 

Close  in  gloom  thy  life  of  sin  ?  " 

Hark,  it  is  a  voice  of  sweetness, 

Tenderly  it  speaks  and  true  ; 
Dark  and  sad,  j^et  strangely  yearning 

For  a  peace  I  never  knew. 
Half  inclined  to  stay  and  listen, 

Half  inclined  to  go  away, 
Still  I  linger,  for  it  whispers, 

"  Harden  not  thy  heart  to-day  !  " 


264 


■* 


What  is  this  that  steals  upon  me  ? 

Can  it  be  that  at  my  side, 
In  His  Own  mysterious  presence 

Stands  the  Wondrous  Crucified  ? 
"  Why,  poor  sinner,  wilt  thou  linger  ? 

I  am  waiting  to  forgive  : 
See  the  meaning  of  these  wound-prints  ; 

I  have  died,  that  thou  may'st  live  !  " 

Hush,  my  soul,  it  is  thy  Saviour ; 

And  He  seeks  His  lost  one  now  ! 
He  is  waiting;  flee  not  from  Him, 

Venture  near,  before  Him  bow. 
Tell  thy  sins  ;   He  will  forgive  thee  ; 

And  He  will  not  love  thee  less ; 
For  the  human  heart  of  Jesus 

Overflows  with  tenderness. 

Rev.  J.  H.  Lester, 

Canon  of  Lichfield, 


•±< * 

265  -^ 


^ ^ 


THE    END    OF   THE    YEAR 

O   SAVIOUR,  once  again  the  ebbing  year 
Awakes  the  memories  of  days  now  past ; 
And  we,  with  chastened  hearts,  are  gathered  here. 

On  Thy  compassion  all  our  care  to  cast ; 
O  God  of  comfort.  Thou,  and  Thou  alone. 
Canst  soothe  us  when  what  most  we  prized  is  gone. 

Thou  wilt  not  chide  us,  if  to-day  we  long 

For  loved  ones,  dear  to  us  and  dear  to  Thee, 

And  fain  would  call  them  back  from  yonder  throng, 
To  tell  us  all  their  saintly  spirits  see  : 

In  grief,  O  Man  of  Sorrows,  Thou  hadst  part. 

And  our  sad  thoughts  find  echo  in  Thy  heart ! 

Oh,  vain  the  wish  !     Enough  for  us  to  know 
That  in  some  fairer,  calmer  land  above. 

Each  ransomed  soul,  who  walked  with  Thee  below. 
Is  ripening  'neath  the  sunshine  of  Thy  love  ; 

O  God  of  peace,  grant  us  with  them,  the  blest, 

To  share  at  eventide  Thy  promised  rest. 

Meanwhile,  through  lonely  vale,  o'er  rugged  steep. 
Help  us,  good  Lord,  the  daily  cross  to  bear. 

And  when  Thy  Voice  shall  wake  our  last  long  sleep. 
May  they,  our  loved  and  lost  ones,  greet  us  there  ! 

O  God  of  hope,  O  Lord  of  Life  and  Light, 

Still  lead  us  on,  till  faith  be  lost  in  sight. 

Rev.  Somerset  C.  Lowry,  M.A.     (1892.) 
266 


267 


^.  ti< 


0 


APPENDIX 

F  tlie  hymns  of  modern  times  none  have  had  a 
more  hxsting  interest,  or  a  greater  place  in 
the  Church  than  the  '' Morning," '' Evening,"  and 
*'  Midnight  "  hymns  of  Bishop  Ken. 

These  were  written  for  the  scholars  of  Winchester 
College  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Few  of  the 
clergy  of  those  days  had  a  more  varied  experience 
than  the  author. 

From  Winchester  he  went,  on  one  of  his  country's 
early  expeditions,  to  Tangier  as  Chaplain  to  Lord 
Dartmouth,  and  Pepys  the  Diarist,  who  accompanied 
them,  has  left  on  record  his  kindly  reminiscence  of 
Ken. 

Later  we  find  him  at  the  Hague,  where  he  was 
Chaplain  to  Princess  Mary,  but  his  faithftd  remon- 
strance against  a  case  of  wrong-doing  at  Court  soon 
deprived  him  of  his  post,  and  led  to  his  return  to 
England. 

After  he  became  Bishop  he  constantly  visited  the 
prisoners  from  the  battle  of  Sedgmoor,  and  inter- 
ceded for  them  with  the  King.  Charles  IL  ap- 
preciated his  sincerity  and  faithfulness,  and  was 
wont  to  say  he  ''would  go  to  church  to  hear  Ken 
tell  him  of  his  faults." 

269 


« ->^ 

APPENDIX 

We  find  the  Bishop  also  attending  Monmouth  on 
the  scaffold,  and  ministering  to  King  Charles  on  his 
deathbed. 

But  none  of  these  things  saved  him  from  im- 
prisonment in  the  Tower. 

That  he  "  approached  as  near  as  human  infirmity 
permitted  to  the  ideal  perfection  of  Christian  virtue," 
is  the  testimony  of  Lord  Macaulay. 

It  is  in  recalling  the  life  of  this  great  hymn-writer 
and  staunch  upholder  of  the  Church's  creeds  that  we 
can  enter  into  the  interest  which  his  tomb  at  Frome 
has,  even  now,  for  the  traveller.  A  pilgrimage  to 
this  shrine  could  not  be  more  happily  sketched  than 
in  the  following  verses  of  Lord  Houghton  : — 

'^'^Let  other  thoughts,  where'er  I  roam, 

Ne'er  from  my  memory  cancel 
The  coffin-fashioned  tomb  at  Frome 

That  lies  behind  the  chancel ; 
A  basket-work  where  bars  are  bent, 

Iron  in  place  of  osier. 
And  shapes  above  that  represent 

A  Mitre  and  a  Crosier. 

These  signs  of  him  that  slumbers  there 

The  dignity  betoken ; 
These  iron  bars  a  heart  declare 

Hard  bent,  but  never  broken  ; 
This  form  ])ortrays  how  souls  like  his, 

Tlieir  pride  and  passion  (pielling, 
Preferred  to  eaitli's  high  palaces, 

This  calm  and  narrow  dwelling. 

^ ^ 

270 


^ ^ 

APPENDIX 


There  with  the  churchyard's  common  dust 

He  loved  his  own  to  mingle  ; 
The  faith  in  wliich  he  placed  his  trust 

M'as  nothing-  rare  or  sing-le  ; 
Yet  laid  he  to  the  sacred  AVall 

As  close  as  he  was  able, 
The  blessed  crumbs  might  almost  fall 

Upon  him  from  God's  table. 

Who  was  this  Father  of  the  Church, 

So  secret  in  his  Glory  ? 
In  vain  might  antiquarians  search 

For  record  of  his  story  ; 
But  preciously  tradition  keeps 

The  fame  of  holy  men  ; 
So  there  the  Christian  smiles  or  weeps 

For  love  of  Bishop  Ken. 

A  name  his  country  once  forsook, 

But  now  with  joy  inherits. 
Confessor  in  tbe  Church's  book, 

And  martyr  in  the  Spirit's  ! 
That  dared  with  royal  power  to  cope. 

In  peaceful  faith  persisting, 
A  braver  Becket — who  could  hope 

To  conquer  unresisting." 

R.  Monckton-jVIilnks 

(Lord  Houghton). 

From  Bishop  Ken  of  the  seventeenth  century  we 
pass  to  Dr.  Johnson  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
another  faithful  son  of  the  Church.  A  lover  hut 
not  a  writer  of  hymns,  he   yet    has  left  on  recortl 

^ ^ 

271 


>^- ^ 

APPENDIX 

something  in  harmony  with  them — his  most  pathetic 
"  In  Memoriam  "  verse  on  a  poor  musician  of  his 
day. 

EPITAPH   BY   DR.    SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

(1740) 

"  PhihpSj  whose  toiicli  harmonious  could  remove 
The  pangs  of  guilty  power  or  hapless  love  ; 
Rest  here^  distressed  hy  poverty  no  more^ 
Here  find  that  calm  thou  gav'st  so  oft  before  ; 
Sleep^  undisturbed^  within  this  peaceful  shrine, 
Till  Angels  wake  thee  with  a  note  like  thine  \'' 

Yet  another  beautiful  epitaph  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  in  Derry  Cathedral,  written  by  The  Lord 
Archbishop  of  Armagh,  the  Primate  of  Ireland,  in 
memory  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Higinbotham,  a  young 
curate  in  Derry,  who  died  of  fever  caught  in  the 
faithful  discharge  of  duty  : — 

"  Down  through  our  crowded  walks  and  closer  air, 
O  friend,  how  beautiful  thy  footsteps  were  ! 
When  through  the  fever's  fire  at  last  they  trod, 
A  Form  was  with  them  like  the  Son  of  God. 
'Twas  but  one  step  for  those  victorious  feet 
From  their  day's  path  unto  the  golden  street ; 
And  we  who  watched  their  walk,  so  bright,  so  brief. 
Have  marked  this  marl)le  with  our  hope  and  grief ! " 


*• 


272 


-y^ 


*- 


■^ 


INDEX 


*■ 


A  HYMN  of  glory  let  us  sing    , 

A  safe  stronghold  our  God  is  still  . 

Adown  the  river  year  by  year 

Alas  !  that  I  not  earlier  knew  Thee 

All  glory,  laud,  and  honour 

All  my  sins  uprising  now 

All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell    . 

All  praise  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night    . 

And  now,  at  last,  the  hour  is  come 

And  now,  beloved  Lord,  Thy  Soul  resigning 

As  pants  the  hart  for  cooling  streams 

Awake,  awake,  for  night  is  flying    . 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  Sun . 

Behold  the  Sun,  that  seemed  but  now' . 
Beneath  our  feet  and  o'er  our  head 
Blest  Day  of  God,  most  calm,  most  bright 
By  the  Cross  in  anguish  sighing 

Calm  lay  the  city  in  its  double  sleep 

Christ,  Whose  glory  fills  the  skies  . 

Christ  will  gather  in  His  own 

Come,  gracious  Saviour,  manifest  Thy  glory 

Come,  Holy  Spirit,  heavenly  Dove 

Come  in,  oh  come  1  the  door  stands  open  now 

Come,  my  soul,  thou  must  be  waking     . 

Come,  tread  once  more  the  path  with  song 

275 


PAGE 

31 

84 
256 
116 

39 
247 

90 
120 
123 
235 
134 

91 
118 

101 
176 
126 

71 

224 
152 
161 
253 
146 
241 
131 
178 


*■ 


INDEX 


■* 


^- 


Comes  at  times  a  stillness  as  of  even 
Cometh  sunshine  after  rain 
Commit  thou  all  thy  griefs 
Crown  Him  with  many  crowns 

Day  of  Doom,  the  last  and  greatest 
Day  of  Wrath  !  0  Day  of  mourning  ! 
Days  and  moments  swiftly  flying    . 
Dies  irse,  dies  ilia 
Do  not  I  love  Thee,  O  my  Lord  ? 

Earth  hath  nothing  sweet  or.  fair 
Eternal  Spirit,  'twas  Thy  breath 

For  the  spirit  confused  . 

From  our  midnight  sleep  uprising 

From  Thee  all  skill  and  science  flow 


Gethsemane!  Gethsemane! 
Give  heed,  my  heart,  lift  up  thine  eyes 
Great  Creator  !  Who  this  day 
Great  God  of  Love,  attend 

Hail,  thou  bright  and  sacred  morn 
Happy  are  the  faithful  dead    . 
Happy  soul !  thy  days  are  ended     . 
Holy  Spirit,  come,  we  pray 
How  pleasant  is  thy  deep  blue  wave 
Hush,  my  soul,  what  Voice  is  pleading 

I  KNOW  no  life  divided    . 

I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth     . 

I  lay  me  down  to  sleep    . 

I  see  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies 

276 


-* 


*- 


>I^ 


INDEX 


If  there  be  that  skills  to  reckon 

In  the  far  celestial  land  . 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress 

Is  it  a  thing  so  small  ? 

Is  thy  heart  athirst  to  know  ? 

It  came  upon  the  midnight  clear 

It  is  finished  !     Blessed  Jesus 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home  . 
Jesu,  Lover  of  my  soul     . 
Jesu,  pitying  Saviour,  hear  me 
Jesu  !  the  very  thought  of  Thee 
Jesu,  these  eyes  have  never  seen 
Jesu,  Thou  Joy  of  loving  hearts 
Jesus  Christ  is  risen  to-day 
Jesus  lives  !  No  longer  now     . 
Jesus  my  Redeemer  lives 

King  of  Saints,  Almighty  Word 


^- 


Let  not  your  hearts  with  anxious  thoughts 

Little  travellers  Zionward 

Lord,  as  Thy  temple's  portals  close 

Lord,  have  mercy  when  we  pray 

Lord,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care 

Lord  Jesu,  think  on  me  . 

Lord  Jesus,  when  we  stand  afar 

Lord,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  lion 

Lord,  when  Thy  Kingdom  comes 

Lucis  largitor  splendide  . 

Maker  of  all  things,  glorious  God 
Mine  hour  appointed  is  at  hand 

277 


PAGE 

75 
77 
103 
168 
139 
220 
251 

87 
153 
150 

54 
212 

55 

72 
151) 
108 


i5<; 

193 

187 
180 
125 
24 
203 
232 
24  It 

i<; 

14 
107 


^ 


INDEX 


-^ 


My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee 

My  God,  how  wonderful  Thou  art 

My  God  1  mj*  God  !  I  know  that  Thou  dost  hear  me 

My  God,  now  I  from  sleep  awake    . 

My  Guardian,  own  me  Thine  .         . 

My  life's  a  shade,  ray  days 

My  Lord,  my  God,  was  crucified 

My  soul  hath  found  the  steadfast  ground 

My  whole  desire  doth  deeply  turn  away 

Name  of  our  triumphant  Saviour  . 
Neighbours,  accept  our  parting  song 
No  more  let  sorrow  cloud  the  eye 
Not  for  our  sins  alone    . 
Nothing  fair  on  earth  I  see    . 
Now  severed  is  Jordan  . 

O  Brightness  of  the  Immortal 

O  Day  most  calm,  most  bright 

0  God,  the  Rock  of  Ages 

O  Holy,  holy,  holy  Lord ! 

O  King  of  Mercy  !  from  Thy  Throne  on  high 

O  Lord  of  Heaven  and  earth  and  sea     . 

0  Sacred  Head  I  once  wounded 

O  Saviour,  once  again  the  ebbing  year  . 

O  soul  of  mine,  O  soul  of  mine 

O  Splendour  of  the  Father's  Face  . 

0  time  of  tranquil  joy  and  holy  feeling  ! 

O  Thou,  the  King  of  Saints,  all-conquering  Word 

O  Thou  Who  didst  this  rite  reveal 

O  Thou,  Who  in  the  light  dost  dwell 

O  Thou  whose  sacred  Feet  have  trod 

O  Unity  of  Threefold  Light   . 


*- 


278 


►i<- 


INDEX 


►i< 


O  ye  who  seek  your  Lord  to-day    . 

Oh,  the  bitter  shame  and  sorrow    . 

Oh  what  their  joy  and  their  glory  must  be 

Oh,  where  shall  rest  be  found  ? 

On  the  dark  hill's  western  side 

On  the  first  Christian  Sabbath  Eve 

On  the  Resurrection  morning 

Out  of  the  depths  I  cry  to  Thee     . 

Receive  him,  Earth      .... 
Rest  of  the  weary !  .         .         ,         . 

Safe  home,  safe  home  in  port ! 
Saviour,  to  Thy  cottage  home 
Shall  we  grow  weary  in  our  watch  ? 
Since  I  one  day  from  yonder  sleeping   . 
Since  Thou  hast  added  now,  O  Lord !     . 
Sleep  thy  last  sleep        .... 
Something  every  heart  is  loving     . 
Sometimes  a  light  surprises  . 
Soon  will  the  evening  star  with  silver  ray 
Soul,  thy  week  of  toil  is  ended 
Spirit  of  Truth  !  on  this  Thy  Day  . 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King 

That  mystic  Word  of  Thine,  0  Sovereign  Lord 

The  day  is  ended — ere  I  sink  to  sleep    . 

The  day  Thou  gavest,  Lord,  is  ended     . 

The  Heavens  declare  Thy  glory     . 

The  pathways  of  Thy  land  are  little  changed 

The  Royal  banners  forward  fly 

The  sands  of  time  are  sinking 

The  Son  of  God  in  doing  good 


PAGE 

23 
240 

56 
ITf) 
197 
179 
222 

82 

15 

128 

40 
196 
192 
160 
100 
234 
155 
163 
165 
202 
174 

99 
207 
233 
239 
244 
215 

27 
210 
181 


*• 


279 


*- 


INDEX 


-^ 


The  Spirit  breathes  upon  the  Word 

Thee  we  adore,  O  Unseen  Saviour  !     Thee 

There  came  a  little  Child  to  earth 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep 

They  are  all  gone  into  a  world  of  light 

Thou  inevitable  day 

Thou  splendid  Giver  of  the  light   . 

Thou  standest  at  the  altar 

Time  by  moments  steals  away 

Upon  the  solitary  mountain's  height     . 

We  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 
When  for  me  the  silent  oar    . 
When  I  survey  the  wondrous  Cross 
When  my  appointed  hour  is  come 
When  on  my  day  of  life  the  night  is  falling 
Whence  shall  my  tears  begin  ? 
Who  has  this  Book,  and  reads  it  not 
Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  begun 
With  hymns  the  heavenly  courts  are  ringing 
Wouldst  be  happy,  little  child  ?    . 
Wreaths  for  our  graves  the  Lord  has  given 


PAGE 

162 
68 
236 
173 
109 
190 
17 
226 
164 

230 

260 
213 
142 

88 
254 

35 
169 

95 
130 
144 
240 


Ye  choirs  of  New  Jerusalem  . 

You  now  must  hear  My  voice  no  more 


49 
154 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hanson  &=  Co. 
Edinburgh  &>  London 


*- 


280 


•* 


Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Libraries 


1012  01210  9064 


Date  Due 

M^  1 8  'SB 

FE23-5S 

•■ 

^ 

